GIFT  OF 
John  C.  Lynch 


/.  :  '        "  '  - 

;.-.:  ;• :  /';-.•    :  •  *~i *•*.••• 


THE 


LAYMAN'S    BREVIARY, 


OR 


MEDITATIONS    FOR    EVERY   DAY 
IN    THE    YEAR. 


FROM  THE   GERMAN  OF  LEOPOLD  SCHEFER. 


BY  C.   T.   BROOKS. 


BOSTON : 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 
1867. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867,  by 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  EIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


PREFACE. 

GOTTLIEB  LEOPOLD  IMMANUEL  SCHEFER,  the  son 
of  a  physician,  was  born  at  Muskau,  in  Germany,  in 
1784,  and  at  an  early  age,  by  his  musical  and  poetic 
talents,  attracted  the  notice  of  the  celebrated  Prince 
Piickler-Muskau,  to  whom,  in  1813,  he  became  private 
Secretary,  and  with  whom  he  travelled  through  Italy 
and  the  Greek  Islands,  and  acquired  the  stimulus,  the 
subjects,  and  the  plans  for  many  of  his  voluminous 
works  of  fiction  in  prose  and  verse.  From  1825  to 
1829  he  published  five  volumes  of  "novels";  from 
1831  to  1835,  four  more  ;  and  five  volumes  of  "  little 
romances"  from  1837  to  1839.  "The  Layman's  Bre 
viary"  appeared  in  1834,  and  the  "World-Priest"  in 
1846.  His  novels  number  in  all  seventy-three.  A 
great  portion  of  them  turn  upon  Oriental  legends  and 
musical  experiences. 

Of  "The  Layman's  Breviary,"  his  biographer  says  : 
"  Returning  home  from  distant  travels,  full  of  the 
poetic  picture-wealth  of  the  East,  and  buried  again  in 
German  limitations,  Schefer  found  in  marriage  and 
home  the  kernel,  the  pivot,  and  centre  of  gravity  of 

544693 


iv  PREFACE. 

his  poetry.  The  wife,  the  mother,  the  child,  —  the 
human  feeling  answering  to  this  triad,  formed  the  point 
of  return  and  departure  for  his  poetic  thought.  The 
title  of  this  collection  of  poems  —  standing  alone  in 
our  literature  —  was  chosen  with  uncommon  felicity. 
These  blooming  pictures  of  Nature,  praising  the  love, 
goodness,  wisdom  of  the  Creator  and  his  work,  form 
in  truth  a  poetical  book  of  devotion  for  the  Layman 
whom  the  dogma  does  not  satisfy,  —  a  Breviary  for 
man." 

The  edition  of  the  "  Breviary "  from  which  this 
translation  was  made  is  the  twelfth.  For  the  head 
ings  of  the  several  meditations  the  Translator  is  re 
sponsible. 

Such  a  book  as  this  ought  not  to  be  longer  un 
known  among  us.  The  author  of  the  biography  pre 
fixed  to  it  says,  "Who  can  doubt  that  the  'Layman's 
Breviary'  has  helped  more  souls  to  the  understanding 
of  themselves  than  any  other  book  of  German  poesy?" 

With  the  hope  that  many  a  reader  will  find  such  help 
in  this  book,  and  in  the  belief  that  it  will  prove  to 
more  and  more  souls  a  Vade  Mecum,  the  Translator 
commends  his  work  of  love  and  reverence  to  the 
thoughtful,  poetic,  and  pious  spirit. 

NEWPORT,  Sept.  30,  1867. 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

JANUAR  Y. 


JANUARY. 


I.  Harmony  of  the  Universe. 

II.  Contentment  with  Human  Lot. 

III.  Man  the  Part  and  the  Whole. 

IV.  The  Past  is  secure. 
V.  Stand  in  thy  Lot. 

VI.  Hope,  the  great  Physician. 

VII.  Hope  gives  Courage  and  Victory. 

VIII.  Loneliness  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend. 

IX.  Nature  teaches  calm  Views  of  Death. 

X.  Regenerating  Influence  of  Sorrow. 

XI.  Whom  God  loveth  He  chasteneth. 

XII.  Time  and  Nature  heal  Grief. 

XIII.  Preparation  for  Death. 

XIV.  Greatness  tested  by  little  Things. 
XV.  Learn  of  Nature  to  work  calmly. 

XVI.  Thy  Strength  is  as  thy  Day. 

XVII.  No  Man  liveth  to  himself. 

XVIII.  Goodness  a  Law  to  itself. 

XIX.  Smiling  Love  conquers  Evil. 

XX.  Earth  transfigured  as  seen  from  another  Planet 

XXI.  The  Stream  of  Love  flows  downward. 

XXII.  Act  as  in  God's  Sight. 

XXIII.  Criticism  on  Men's  Ingratitude  criticised. 

XXIV.  We  own  only  what  we  use. 
XXV.  Learn  Patience  with  Patience. 

XXVI.  The  Heavenly  Father's  Children  all  great. 

XXVII.  Anger  punishes  itself. 

XXVIII.  God. 

XXIX.  The  Transitory  is  the  Highest. 

XXX.  Equanimity  amidst  Change. 

XXXI.  Emblems  of  a  Pure  Life. 


THE   LAYMAN'S    BREVIARY. 


JANUARY. 


Harmony  of  the  Universe. 

iO  him  alone  who  hears  the  entire  voice 
Of  Nature,  is  her  voice  a  harmony. 
Here  at  my  feet  there  sits  a  weeping  child, 
While  myriad  birds   sing  round  me  in  the 

green ; 

There,  crumbling,  stands  an  old,  decrepit  oak, 
And  underneath,  young  blossom-laden  trees 
Exchange  their  friendly  nods  ;   here,  dirges  sound, 
Borne  from  the  sleeping  chamber  of  the  dead, 
And  from  yon  woodland  winds  a  wedding  train ; 
Through  the  half-open  coffin  now  I  see 
The  dead  man's  form,  —  and  lo  there,  through  the  chink 
Two  little  blooming  children  wondering  gaze  ; 
While  overhead,  heedless  of  all  below, 
The  clouds  move  on  their  everlasting  way. 
How  in  the  heart  the  various  feelings  blend 
In  modulation  sweet,  divine  repose  ! 
The  soul  of  the  fair  Whole  is  born  in  me  j 
From  joy  and  woe  alike  remote  I  stand, 
Ready  to  take  aright  what  life  may  bring. 


4  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

II. 

Contentment  with  Human  Lot. 

Whate'er  a  human  lot  brings  with  it  will 

At  last  content  thee,  art  thou  but  content 

To  be  a  Man  !     Thy  bliss  is  possible, 

While  thou  know'st  how  to  seek  it.     Then  take  note  ! 

Be  a  whole  man,  no  more  and  yet  no  less,  — 

So  shalt  thou  live  in  gladness  while  thou  liv'st, 

So  shalt  thou  die  in  peace,  though  called  in  youth, — 

For  Nature  teaches  thee,  e'en  blossoms  fall ; 

So  shalt  thou  die  content  in  late  old  age,  — 

For  to  grow  old  is  likewise  laid  on  us,  — 

Knowing  that  thou  shalt  once  be  quite  forgot, 

For  of  the  dead  none  thinketh  in  the  days 

We  leave  behind,  —  this  too  is  human  lot. 

Yet  if  the  fate  of  mortals  touch  thy  heart, 

Then  weep  !     For  tears,  too,  ay,  and  bitter  tears, 

And  sorrows  unassuaged,  belong  to  men. — 

Whate'er  a  human  lot  brings  with  it  will 

At  last  content  thee,  art  thou  but  content 

To  be  a  man.     And  therefore,  be  a  Man ! 


in. 
Man  the  Part  and  the  Whole. 

Think  not  thou  dost  humiliate  thyself, 
When  thou  dost  sink  into  the  swarm  of  men, 
And  seemest  to  thyself  so  small,  and  say'st : 
What  have  I  then  of  the  great  universe 
That  I  have  left  behind  ?     If  thou  art  not 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  universe,  them  canst  enjoy  it  still, 

Canst  fill  with  it  the  chalice  of  thy  breast, 

As  thine  eye  takes  in  all  the  stars.     Behold, 

Thou  art  a  man,  yea,  all  that  thou  canst  be ; 

Thy  wishes  sought  to  cheat  thee  of  thyself. 

Then  hence,  thy  dreams !     Whatever  thou  canst  think, 

That  thing  thou  art  thyself,  or  hast,  thyself, 

Created  it,  though  't  were  the  beauteous  Gods. 


IV. 
The  Past  is  secure. 

Hold  thou  the  past  as  what  has  won  itself! 

That,  when  thy  dear  ones  die,  when  thou  thyself 

Art  called  to  die,  and  naught  is  left  of  thee, 

Thou  shalt  not  say,  —  For  what,  then,  have  I  lived? 

'T  is  gone  !     I  am  as  I  had  ne'er  been  born  ! 

Think'st  thou  that  all  the  dead  have  lived  in  vain, 

Who  once  were  walking  on  the  holy  earth  ? 

That  Heaven  in  vain  moved  round  before  their  eyes  ? 

That  Earth  in  vain  put  on  her  loveliness  ? 

Because  they  are  not,  have  they  never  been  ? 

Art  thou  not,  then  ?     Wilt  thou,  one  day,  not  be  ? 

Then  are  the  dead  in  truth  as  good  as  thou, 

And  rich  as  thou  will  be  one  day  the  unborn, 

Just  as  to  them  thou  wast  one  time  unborn, 

Whom  thou,  thyself,  now  living,  callest  dead. 

v. 
Stand  in  thy  Lot. 

Hard  is  it  to  be  joyous  on  the  earth  ! 

Now  thou  art  told :     A  sick  man  here  lies  low ; 


6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  now  in  silence  one  is  borne  out  dead. 
Who  should  not  feel,  himself,  another's  woe  ? 
Who  will  not  one  day  meet  another's  fate  ? 
Thou  too  wilt  meet  it.     But  it  comes  to  each 
In  his  appointed  time ;  for,  one  by  one, 
As  they  appear,  do  men  receive  their  gifts 
From  the  bestowing  Gods.     To-day  brings  death 
To  this  one,  and  to  that  one  his  first  day ; 
This  one  still  smiles,  while  in  the  other's  eyes 
Tears  are  already  standing.     Let  not  then 
That  which  befalleth  others  trouble  so 
Thy  mind,  —  but  calmly  stand  in  thine  own  lot ! 

VI. 
Hope,  the  great  Physician. 

Does  any  grief  prey  on  thee,  first  remove 

Its  cause,  then  will  thy  grief,  too,  disappear. 

Only  the  past  admits  no  longer  help. 

But  for  the  present  evil  there  is  still, 

And  always,  a  physician;  then,  so  long 

As  sorrow  lasts,  let  hope  last!  mortal  man 

Can  know  no  higher  bliss  than  Hope,  sweet  Hope  ! 

VII. 

Hope  gives  Coiirage  and  Victory. 

When  one  draws  near  to  thee  bowed  down,  and  says 
"  Friend,  dry  thy  tears  and  cease  thy  sad  lament ! 
Thou  wilt  one  day  in  fields  of  light  above, 
Where  falls  no  tear,  forever  live  in  bliss!"  — 
And  at  the  word  thou  wip'st  thy  weeping  eyes, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Liftest  thy  head  and  look's!  on  him  with  love, — 

I  pray,  what  has  the  man  then  given  thee  ? 

Is  thy  misfortune,  therefore,  less  ?     No  whit ! 

Must  thou  not  therefore  die  ?     'T  is  plain  thou  must ! 

See  then,  he  gave  thee  nothing,  only  Hope, 

And  lo,  Hope  gives  thee  Courage,  nothing  more. 

Courage  to  suffer  death  and  misery 

All  craven  dreamers-  teacheth  thee  to  scorn, 

Uplifts  thee  to  the  proper  sphere  of  man, 

And  crowneth  thee  with  manhood's  noble  worth. 


VIII. 

Loneliness  on  the  Death  of  a  Friend. 

No  joy  of  life  knows  he  who  still  fears  death  ; 

And  yet  it  is  not  human  not  to  shun  it. 

Here  dies  a  mortal ;  —  What  has  Nature  lost  ? 

Her  thousand  children  still  can  comfort  her, 

And  her  eternal  stars.     And  lo,  the  heavens 

Still  sparkle  gayly  as  before  !     The   moon 

Has  met  no  loss  !     She,  too,  shines  on  and  smiles. 

But  ah,  the  man  who  died,  he  was  my  friend ! 

Poor  I  find  no  such  friend  on  earth  again. 

And  therefore  do  I  weep  to  the  bright  heavens, 

And  to  the  moon  who  smiles  there,  —  without  friend! 

IX. 

Nature  teaches  calm  Views  of  Death. 

That  which  is  common,  that  which  every  day 

And  in  all  places  silently  goes  on, 

Cannot  be  much,  though  it  were  death  itself. 


8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Then  entertain  not  too  great  hope  of  death ; 
It  is  a  common  link  in   Nature's  chain. 
Yet  what  is  natural  is  never  mean ; 
It  is  a  something  holy  and  divine  ; 
Then  cherish  not  too  slight  a  hope  of  death, 
To  whom  e'en  Nature  calmly  offers  up, 
Perhaps  e'en  joyfully,  her  fairest  things  — 
Even  as  Nature  ever  joys  and  mourns  — 
In  silence.     So  be  thou  in  silence  glad. 


Regenerating  Influence  of  Sorrow. 

And  this  too  I  myself  have  learned  of  man ! 

When  Sorrow  lays  on  him  her  wintry  hand, 

Man  takes  the  semblance  of  a  chrysalis ; 

He  shrinks  and  quivers  at  the  slightest  touch, 

And  hovers,  through  long  moons,  in  still  suspense ; 

And  only  a  thin  thread  attaches  him 

To  earthly  life !     But  lo  !  at  length  his  grief 

Has  grown  by  slow  degrees  a  coat  of  mail, 

Fast  woven  round  him,  and  so  cased  about, 

He  nourishes  and  fashions  to  himself 

From  the  materials  of  his  earlier  state, 

Of  all  their  earthly  grossness  purified, 

His  silently  transfigured  soul,  renews 

His  youth  and  ripens  toward  a  higher  nature, 

And  soars,  with  pinions  never  known  before, 

A  fair  new  creature,,  into  a  new  world. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XI. 
Whom  Godloveth  He  chasteneth. 

This  thing  mine  eyes  see  clearly,  —  this  the  world 

In  all  its  course  irrefragably  shows  : 

What  trouble  is,  and  what  it  means  !     It  is 

The  darksome  labyrinth  whereinto  a  God 

Doth  graciously  lead  men,  that  every  one 

May  prove  his  life ;  that  the  bad  man  may  know 

His  wickedness  and  learn  to  cease  from  it,— 

And  that  the  good  may  by  experience 

Know  his  good  spirit  and  enjoy  it !     For 

We  see  the  bad  come  forth  from  sorrow'*  cloud 

A  better,  and  the  good  a  kindlier  man. 

And  is  there  one  whom  God  has  never  tried? 

For  what  one  of  the  children  he  has  made 

Loves  he  not  ?     Child  of  sorrow,  think  of  this  I 

XII. 

Time  and  Nature,  heal  Grief. 

'T  is  ever  best  to  grieve  with  him  that  grieves, 
To  loose  the  pent-up  sorrows  in  his  breast, 
And  to  give  words*  to  his  mute  wilderment, 
That  he  may  soon  run  through  the  round  of  woe. 
For  nothing  measureless  is  meted  out, 
Nothing  immortal,  here,  to  mortal  man. 
Joy  has  its  limit;  pain  too  has  its  goal. 
And  were  he  fain  to  weep  forever,  —  still 

"Give  sorrow  words,  &c." 

MACB.  iv.  3. 


io  THE  LAYMAN^S  BREVIARY. 

His  tears  dry  up  at  last ;  though  he  life-long 
Would  wake  and  watch  his  grief,  yet  faithful  sleep 
At  last  will  loose  his  members,  in  sweet  dreams 
Wipe  dry  his  tears  and  breathe  into  his  soul 
By  slow  degrees  Hope's  red  and  life's  fresh  zest, 
With  such  a  mild  procession  of  fair  dawns, 
Which,  unobtrusive,  yet  so  fair  and  true, 
Step  daily  to  his  bed*  and  softly  ask, — 
Wilt  thou  not,  living  man,  return  to  life  ? 
For  they  who  live  must  gird  their  loins  to  work, 
And  when  we  're  dead,  't  is  time  enough  to  rest. 

£  XIII. 

Preparation  for  Death. 

Consider !  thou  canst  not  do  otherwise 

Than  as  earth's  order  wills,  and  all  thy  wails 

Only  torment  thyself.     So  live  thou,  then, 

Resigned  and  glad  through  all  thy  well-spent  days, 

That  fate  may  be  to  thee  no  punishment, 

But  come  to  thee  a  calmly-looked-for  thing, 

As  gently  as  the  evening  heaven  comes  down, 

Softly  as  children  who  go  home  ere  night. 

For  nothing  ill  can  e'er  befall  the  good  ! 

Though  like  the  autumn  swallow  youth  departs, 

Though  pleasures  pass  away  like  summer  flowers, 

Though  tears  come  to  thine  eyes  like  evening  dew, 

Though  age  comes,  and  though  death  at  last  must  come, 

As  the  year's  seasons  come  to  us  in  turn, 

Thou  know'st  that  Destiny  means  well  with  man. 

*  "  Night, 

Wrapt  in  her  sable  robe,  with  silent  step, 
Comes  to  our  bed,  and  breathes  it  in  our  ears." 

DANA. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XIV. 

Greatness  tested  by  little  Things. 

That  is  not  greatness,  calmness,  strength  of  soul, 

When,  once  for  all,  thou  dost  experience 

Some  sudden,  terrible  calamity, 

Some  last,  decisive,  heavy  blow  of  fate, 

The  loss  of  reputation,  of  estate, 

Of  those  thou  lov'st,  of  health,  of  happiness, 

And  still  remainest  patient  and  composed, — 

That  is  necessity  laid  on  thy  soul ; 

The  suffering  of  violence  humbles  thee. 

But  if  thou  bearest  all  the  lesser  cares, 

Burdens,  and  torments  of  each  passing  day, 

Nor  feel'st  them  bitter,  —  if,  serene  and  strong, 

Thou  bearest  little  trials,  blessing  God, 

That,  only  that,  dear  soul,  is  greatness,  strength, 

Collectedness  of  spirit,  godly  walk. 

For  little  griefs  thou  mightest  not  endure, 

But  scorn  them,  prove  thyself  inferior 

Ev'n  to  thy  destiny.     Then  use,  O  heart, 

Courage  and  strength,  mildness  and  cheerfulness, 

Where  only  thou  canst  do  it,  —  in  little  things. 

xv. 
Learn  of  Nature  to  "work  calmly. 

The  stars  move  on  along  their  giant  path 

Mysteriously  up,  across,  and  down, 

And  on  their  silver  disks,  meantime,  God  works 

His  holy  wonders  so  mysteriously! 

For  lo!  in  blossom-laden  twigs,  the  while, 


12  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  bird  sleeps  undisturbed;  him  wakeneth  not 

That  mighty  sweep  of  vast  activity ; 

No  sound  brings  tidings  of  it  down  to  earth : 

No  echo  hear'st  thou  in  the  silent  groves ! 

That  murmur  is  the  brook's  own  rushing  sound, 

That  sough  is  but  the  whisper  of  the  leaves ! 

And  thou,  O  man,  desirest  idle  fame? 

Thou  dost  whate'er  thou  dost  so  noisily, 

And  childishly  wouldst  write  it  on  the  stars ! 

But  let  that  gentle  spirit  enter  thee, 

Which  from  the  sun's  noiselessly  mighty  work, 

From  earth  and  spring,  from  rnoon  and  starry  night, 

Speaks  to  thy  soul,  —  then  thou  too  art  at  rest, 

Doing  thy  good  things  and  creating  fair, 

And  going  so  still  along  thy  earthly  way, 

As  if  thy  soul  were  woven  of  moonlight, 

Or  thou  wert  one  with  that  calm  spirit  above. 

XVI. 
Thy  Strength  is  as  thy  Day. 

Let  no  misfortune  ever  master  thee ! 

For  only  strong  endurance  leads  thee  to 

The  day  of  bliss.     Whate'er  can  chance  to  man, 

That  he  has  strength  to  meet;  what  he  has  strength  for, 

That  it  behooveth  him  to  bear,  dear  soul! 

XVII. 
No  Man  liveth  to  himself. 

How  seldom  is  the  life  we  live  our  own! 
Half  would  we  follow  in  the  old  world's  track, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  13 

Half  would  we  break  the  after- world  a  path  ! 
Life's  date-tree  we  should  never  have  enjoyed, 
If  others,  thinking  just  as  we  do  now, 
Had  not,  long  since,  planted  for  us  the  tree ! 


XVIII. 
Goodness  a  Law  to  itself. 

The  rich  man  or  the  bad  man,  —  let  him  hold 
Fast  to  the  law.     That  only  shelters  him, 
And  hardly.     Laws  are  only  for  the  bad. 
The  freedom  of  the  good  man's  action  knows 
No  power  within  his  breast  but  godly  will, 
And  what  he  wills,  that  thing,  despite  the  world, 
He  almost  always  executes  ;  or  if 
He  fails  on  earth,  still  he  belongs  to  Heaven. 
Whoso  e'er  wrought  a  great  and  glorious  work 
Was  in  his  time  a  scandal,  a  destroyer, 
An  outcast,  worthy  of  the  hemlock  cup, 
Reprobate,  fitted  for  the  cross,  and  then 
For  divine  honors  in  the  after-age. 

XIX. 

Smiling  Love  conquers  Evil. 

'Gainst  destiny  and  death,  beloved  soul, 

Nor  tears,  nor  sword,  nor  harness  can  prevail ; 

Not  hosts,  were  they  encamped  about  thy  house  ! 

To  thee  and  thine  will  happen  in  its  course 

Whate'er  must  happen  :    this  consider  then  : 

Only  by  mildness  canst  thou  conquer  fate. 

A  smile  suffices  to  smile  death  away, 


I4  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  love  defends  thee  e'en  from  wrath  divine ! 
Then  let  what  may  befall  thee,  —  still  smile  on! 
And  howe'er  Death  may  rob  thee,  —  still  smile  on! 
Love  never  has  to  meet  a  bitter  thing; 
A  Paradise  blooms  around  him  who  smiles. 
These  weapons  wear  thou  on  the  road  of  life, 
For  these  a  gracious  God  has  given  mankind 
To  fight  with  against  death  and  destiny. 


XX. 

Earth  transfigured  as  seen  from  another  Planet. 

High  in  the  holy  heavens  thou  seest  how  still, 
Sweetly  serene,  the  constellations  move 
In  their  appointed  round,   night  after  night; 
And  yet  the  moon,  too,  has  her  day  and  night ! 
And  on  the  stars  pale  autumn  comes  and  spring, 
And  death  and  life  alternate  even  there, 
Upon  their  still  and  beauteous  silver  disks ; 
And  thou,  O  soul,  so  tranquil  lookest  on, 
So  blissful,  aye,  as  blissful  as  they  seem ! 
And  dost  thou  tremble,  here  on  earth  alone, 
To  look  on  spring  and  autumn,  death  and  life  ? 
Her  day  enchants,  her  night  appalleth  thee  ? 
O  spread  thy  spirit's  pinions,  soar  aloft 
Up  to  that  nearest  planet's  silver  disk  ; 
From  there  look  out  upon  the  earth,  and  let 
This  globe  and  all  thou  knowest  hereupon 
By  distance  be  transfigured  to  a  star,  — 
Cities  and  mountains  and  old  monuments, 
All  the  dear  forms  of  men  and  every  child ! 
Then  see  thyself,  too,  as  a  pilgrim  here 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  15 

Who,  sojourning  awhile  upon  the  earth, 

Bides  in  her  valleys  with  the  nightingales, 

Dwells  in  her  springs  and  autumns,  days  and  nights. 

So  will  sweet  peace  sink  down  into  thy  soul, 

As  when  thou  lookest  at  the  evening  star. 


XXI. 

The  Stream  of  Love  flows  downward. 

Life's  nobler  goods  are  not  inherited 

Like  common  goods.     What  once  a  mother's  love 

Did  for  each  one  of  us,  a  helpless  child, 

That  to  our  mother  we  can  ne'er  repay ; 

She  is  already  great  and  self-sustained ; 

No  more  in  need,  and  scarcely  capable, 

Henceforward  of  our  help,  she  dies  to  us  ! 

Yet  God,  that  gratitude  may  be  secured 

To  the  kind  sex,  gives  us  in  turn  a  child, 

Which  bears  our  mother's  likeness  more  than  ours  ! 

So  sweetly  does  He  give  her  back  to  us ! 

And  loving,  cherishing  our  child,  we  love 

Our  mother!     Grateful  and  most  blest  at  once, 

While  in  our  grandchild  we  our  thanks  make  sure, 

Who  us  in  turn  resembles  and  requites. 

Who  but  a  God  could  so  divinely  twine 

The  gratitude  and  love  and  bliss  of  man 

With  his  great  world's  bliss  and  continuance! 


16  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXII. 

Act  as  in  God's  Sight. 

Whene'er  thou  purposes!  to  do  a  deed, 

First  lift  thine  eyes  to  that  blue  heaven  above, 

And  say:  "This  will  I  do!     Behold  it  Thou, 

And  bless  it,  Thou  in  silence  throned  on  high !  " 

And  canst  thou  not  say  that,  do  not  the  act 

From  sheer  presumption,  idle  human  might, 

Because  He,  silent,  lets  thee  do  thy  will. 

For  know,  whate'er  thou  dost,  thou  doest  it 

To  be  a  part  of  memory  all  thy  life  ; 

The  good  deed  sends  a  clear  peal  up  to  heaven, 

Clear  as  a  bell ;  ay,  't  is  a  looking-glass 

In  which  thou  blissfully  canst  see  thyself; 

Then  shalt  thou  seem  to  dwell  in  the  blue  heaven, 

Or  thou  shalt  feel,  come  down  to  dwell  in  thee, 

The  still  and  tranquil  soul  of  Heaven  itself! 

XXIII. 

Criticism  on  Merfs  Ingratitude  criticised. 

"Why  is  there  shown  so  little  gratitude?" 
Who  thanks  the  cloud  that  pours  its  rain  on  one, 
And  slays  another  with  its  lightning  ?     He 
Whose  will  claims  no  respect,  must  forfeit  thanks. 
The  good  man  mankind  ever  loves  to  thank, 
Not  the  good  thing  a  bad  man  does  to  them, 
Who  has  done  many  others  ill,  and  does. 
Thus  is  cleared  up  ingratitude  towards  men 
Who  one  day  do  the  right,  and  fail  the  next ; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  17 

So  God,  who  sends  us  many  a  bitter  pain, 

Is  still  to  us  the  Ineffable  Adored, 

For  that  He  bears  good  will  to  all,  and  us 

Ev'n  in  that  bitter  pain.     Then  wait,  O  man, 

For  gratitude,  till  thou,  by  a  long  course 

Of  kindly  deeds  hast  proved  how  pure  thy  will,  — 

Then  shall  men  thank  thee  e'en  for  what  is  ill! 

But  thou,  rewarded  by  the  good  thou  dost, 

Wilt  then  desire  no  thanks,  and  be  like  God. 


XXIV. 

We  own  only  what  we  use. 

What  we  possess  and  use  alone  makes  rich,  — 
We  do  not  own  that  which  we  do  not  use. 
And  thus  would  most  men  verily  be  rich 
Did  they  not  covet  what  they  cannot  use, 
And  what  e'en  he  who  has  possesses  not. 

xxv. 
Learn  Patience  with  Patience. 

Patience,  of  all  the  virtues  blessedest, 

Is  not  a  gift!     Endurance  only  buys  it, 

And  not  at  once  as  other  goods  are  bought ; 

But  it  is  thine  by  calm  continuance 

In  bearing,  loving,  hoping,  and  forgiving. 

The  good  man  only  can  be  patient,  for 

As  he  grows  patient,  so  too  he  grows  good. 

Would'st  thou  be  so,  then  learn  to  bear  a  little, 

Forgive,  and  love  and  hope ;  then  more  and  more, 

And  with  a  growing  pleasure,  till  at  last 


1 8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  doest  this  one  thing  gladliest,  only  this ; 
And  so  becomest  good,  and  winnest  thus 
Patience,  of  all  the  virtues  blessedest, 
A  thousand  treasures  for  a  single  one. 


XXVI. 

The  Heavenly  Father's  Children  all  great. 

Let  every  task  be  easy  to  a  man, 

And  all  alike  !     For  each  one  gives  him  power 

To  be  a  man !     That  is  the  thing.     Who  e'er 

Has  lived,  that  man  has  done  much,  has  been  much, 

Much  in  the  mansion  of  this  beauteous  world ! 

Therefore  think  worthily  of  human  life, 

Worthily  of  yourselves,  ye  living  men! 

Holy  is  whatsoever  thing  that  breathes 

This  Ether!     Underneath  these  golden  stars 

Is  no  one  great  or  small ;  all  is  divine ! 

And  none  is  mean  who  recognizes  this  ; 

In  presence  of  this  endless  wealth  of  earth 

No  one  is  rich ;  and  yet  in  view  of  Heaven 

No  one  is  poor !  and  no  one  is  despised, 

Whom  the  Eternal  Father  owns  as  child, 

Who  dares  to  call  him  Father ;  and  that  name 

He  loves  to  hear  from  all.     Let  all  then  love 

To  name  Him  by  this  high  and  tender  name! 

XXVII. 
Anger  punishes  itself. 

One  way  I  know,  by  which  thou  canst  revenge 
Upon  thyself  the  wrong  men  do  to  thee : 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  19 

Thou  must  be  angry !     Or  if  life  itself 

Becomes  a  burden,  and  it  lays  on  thee 

Sickness  and  wretchedness  and  poverty, 

And  manifold  discomfort  and  disgrace, — 

Thou  must  afflict  thyself!     Or  if  the  world 

Bring  change  and  death,  ingratitude  and  hate, — 

Thou  must  be  vexed,  if  thou  wilt  be  a  fool ! 

For  so  thou  visitest  upon  thyself 

What  others'  sins  deserve !  —  But  art  thou  wise, 

Thou  then  wilt  bear  in  silence  all  that  comes, 

Rejoicing  in  thine  own  contented  soul, 

Which  gives  thee  all  things  and  takes  from  thee  naught ! 

And  griev'st  thou  for  the  fate  of  them  thou  lov'st, 

Then  think  :     They  suffer  nothing,  like  thyself, 

If  they  have  pious  souls.     And  if  thy  tears 

Still  flow,  consider,  this  thy  seeming  grief 

Is  only  love!     And  then,  then  be  as  blest 

As  love  makes  every  one  in  whom  it  dwells. 


xxvm. 
God. 

Thou  nearest  of  a  God,  thou  speak'st  of  Him, 

The  world  is  full  of  Him,  —  yet  no  one  knows 

Whence  comes  the  name  of  God !     The  whole  fair  world 

Teaches  thee  not  that  name,  —  no,  not  in  all 

Its  order  or  continuance  or  change  ! 

And  yet  thy  soul  assures  thee  that  that  name 

Is  not  an  empty  sound,  but  shadows  forth 

The  primal  source  of  beings  numberless. 

Yea,  thou  hast  rightly  guessed,  O  pious  heart; 

Within  the  heart  doth  God  declare  himself 


20  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

In  still,  low,  confidential  spirit-tones,  — 

He  gently  leads  thee  on  in  virtue's  ways, 

Opens  the  inner  eye  and  by  degrees 

Upon  thy  actions  prints  his  character ; 

Becomes  within  thee  thought,  becomes  the  essence 

Of  all  the  good  and  true  and  beautiful 

Which  like  a  seed-corn,  all  in  secrecy, 

Has  now  sprung  up  within  thee,  and  of  all 

The  good  and  fair  and  true  this  great  world  shows, 

And  all  that  nobly  stirs  the  race  of  men. 

And  when  thou  long  hast  practised  what  is  good, 

Then  hast  thou  felt  the  God  that  dwells  in  thee, 

And  by  experience  found  the  holy  law 

That  rules  the  mighty  all  as  well  as  thee, 

That  works  unceasing  in  the  human  race, 

Howe'er  material,  mortal  shapings  change. 

Thou  carriest  the  Father's  image,  then, 

That  shines  in  thee,  high  up  above  the  stars, 

Forward  thou  carriest  it  beyond  all  times  ; 

Backward  through  all  past  times  thou  carriest  it, 

Bindest  thyself  and  the  fair  world  to  Him, 

Derivest  all  from  Him,  and  piously 

Leadest  all  nature  back  to  Him  again. 

Yes,  He  it  was  who  found  Himself  in  thee ; 

And  only  he  who  never  practised  good, 

Yearned  for  the  true  nor  blessed  the  beautiful, 

Were  without  God,   and  God  were  without  him. 

XXIX. 

The  Transitory  is  the  Highest. 

Short  lived  is  man,  and  short  lived  is  his  work, 
All  he  designs  or  executes  or  feels. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  21 

Of  all  the  love  he  bears  his  human  kind, 

His  mother  country  and  his  very  gods, 

No  trace  remains  at  last  on  earth  ;  his  death 

Leaves  not  a  trace,  not  ev'n  his  grave  remains, 

And  all  that  once  he  reverenced,  yea,  adored, 

His  gods  and  temples,  sink  one  day  to  dust, 

Like  him,  his  people,  and  his  memory. 

And  yet  does  that   then  make  him  like  the  earth? 

Or  less,  perchance,  than  dust?  —  O  no,  not  so! 

For  that  he  came  and  wrought  and  loved  and  lived, 

Ev'n  that  he  went  again,  that  is  a  sign 

Of  his  descent  from  the  blue  heights  of  heaven, 

While  earth  abides  and  evermore  abides. 

For  that  is  highest  which  is  transitory, 

It  is  a  thing  of  life  divine !  whate'er 

Passes  not  by  lived  not  and  never  shall. 


XXX. 

Equanimity  amidst  Change. 

From  all  things,  whether  foreign  or  his  own, 
E'en  from  himself,  doth  changeful  man  receive 
Pleasure  to-day,  to-morrow  pain !     All  change 
No  less  than  he;  Change  comes  o'er  friend  and  foe.' 
Who  smiles  on  him  to-day,  to-morrow  will 
Afflict  him!     The  same  heaven  that  yesterday 
Affrighted,  laughs  on  him  to-day!     The  earth 
That  lately  gave  him  flowers,  now  makes  a  grave 
For  some  one  of  his  darlings !  —  Naught  abides 
Constant  to  what  it  was  and  is,  —  nor  ever 
Will  it  or  can  it,  more  than  man  himself. 
Musing  this  truth  by  long  experience  taught, 


22  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Beseems  him  with  a  sense  of  mastery, 

With  mild,  sustained  serenity  of  soul, 

Neither,  by  joy  and  sorrow,  friend  and  foe, 

Too  closely  held,  building  on  outward  things, 

To  praise  the  world,  —  nor  yet  to  blame  that  God 

Who  made  him  and  made  all  things  mutable, 

That  he  might  gain  the  even,  godlike  mind. 


XXXI. 

Emblems  of  a  Pure  Life. 

Purely  live  my  child,  the  life  of  beauty, 

Free  from  every  stain  and  evil  conscience, 

As  in  guileless  stillness  lives  the  lily, 

As  the  dove  within  the  leafy  covert. 

So  that  when  the  Father  looketh  downward, 

Thou  may'st  be  on  earth  his  fairest  eye-mark, 

As  involuntarily  the  traveller 

Gazes  on  the  beauteous  star  of  evening ; 

So  that  when  the  sun  one  day  dissolves  thee, 

Thou  a  pure  and  lucid  pearl  may'st  show  him, 

That  thy  thought  may  be  like  scent  of  roses, 

That  thy  love  may  be  like  to  a  sunbeam, 

And  thy  life  like  evening  song  of  herdsman, 

Like  a  tone  from  his  soft  flute  out-welling. 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

* 

FEBRUARY. 


FEBRUARY. 


I.  Miracles,  to-day,  yesterday,  and  forever. 

II.  Duty,  the  way  of  Peace. 

III.  Earth  an  Inn. 

IV.  True  Riches. 

V.  Bereaved  parental  Love  consoled. 

VI.  How  to  conquer  and  cure  the  Ill-tempered. 

VII.  How  .soon  we  lose  our  Children  ! 

VIII.  Living  in  those  we  love. 

IX.  Envy. 

X.  Beauty. 

XL  Influence  of  Faith  in  the  Eternal  Life  on  the  Present. 

XII.  A  large  View  of  Man  begets  Patience. 

XIII.  Woman. 

XIV.  Man  in  his  complex  Relations. 

XV.  The  Happiness  of  moderate  Desires. 

XVI.  Yearnings  for  the  Afterworld. 

XVII.  Reverence  all  Men. 

XVIII.  Practical  Atheism  out  of  Time  and  Place. 

XIX.  Value  of  Old  Age. 

XX.  Godlike  Contentment. 

XXL  The  Mystery  of  the  Finite. 

XXII.  Without  Vision  the  People  perish. 

XXIII.  Night  the  great  Leveller. 

XXIV.  Do  the  Duty  which  is  the  least  convenient. 
•XXV.  The  Evening  Star. 

XXVI.  'Value  of  the  World. 

XXVII.  Spring  Thoughts  of  Immortality. 

XXVIII.  Nature's  Method  of  curing  Man's  Errors. 

XXIX.  Death  of  the  Snow-drops. 


FEBRUARY. 


Miracles,  to-day,  yesterday,  and  forever. 

HOU  also  canst  do  miracles,  beloved; 
The  wise  men  of  all  times  have  in  their  day 
Wrought  miracles  and  work  them  evermore. 
They  make  the  blind  to   see,   the   deaf  to 
hear; 

They  heal  the  sick,  and  break  the  bondsman's  chain, 

And  by  their  Gospel  open  to  the  poor 

The  heavenly  kingdom.     Mind  alone  does  this. 

The  might  of  truth  constrains  the  hearts  of  men. 

How  many  generations  heard  the  word! 

How  many  nations  have  received  their  sight! 

How  many  legions  of  the  Cherubim 

Are  ministering  this  hour,  to  the  Son 

Of  Paradise !     How  many  devils  now 

Enter  the  swine  and  plunge  into  the  sea 

Of  madness  and  of  lies  !  —  Only  believe ! 

"  Ye  shall  do  greater  miracles  than  I ! " 


li. 


Duty  the  Way  of  Peace. 

No  duty  leave  undone,  nor  undertake 

A  new  one,  till  to  all  outstanding  ones 

Thou  hast  done  justice !     Whatsoe'er  with  these 


26  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Consists  not,  turn  away  from  ;    else  shall  thorns 

Entangle  thee,  which  thou   no  more  canst  loose. 

Say  not:    I  must  get  on  in  life,  I  must 

Keep  pace  with  all  my  fellow-travellers!  — 

Believe  me,  what  thou  seest,  as  thou  thus 

Lookest  on  men,  is  but  the  outer  form, 

Just  where  and  as  time's  tide  has  driven  them, 

Dropped  like  the  fig,  where'er  the  tree  impelled; 

But  where  and  how  is  each  one's  real  soul  ? 

Even  as  the  fig,  that  duly  in  its  time 

Bears  fruit?  —  the  inner  man  thou  seest  not! 

Yonder  old  man,  with  one  foot  in  the  grave, 

Is  still  a  child,  —  cannot  with  all  his  might 

Be  clear  of  childhood's  grove,  —  "He  once  gave  pain 

To  his  dear  mother's  heart!"     That  widow  there 

Is  not  yet  bride,  —  "A  father's  counsel  once 

She  wickedly  despised."     Yet  lo,  the  youth 

Who  turns  the  acres  yonder  with  his  plough, 

Faithfully  paying  his  poor  father's  debts, 

He  is  already  old,  —  as  filial  love 

And  virtue  are !     As  blessed  as  the  saints ! 

And  a  great  fortune  he  has  earned  himself: 

Namely,  to  covet  nothing,  —  which  would  be 

But  debt ;   and  naught  to  dread,  which  lets  him  rest 

In  peaceful  slumber  on  his  bed.     My  child, 

Wisdom  alone  has  eyes  ;    all  fools  are  blind  : 

Then  see  that  thou  no  duty  leave  undone ! 

in. 
Earth  an  Inn. 

Though  one  should  look  upon  the  earth  as  only 
A  hostelry,  what  must  he  deem  the  host! 


THE  LAYM&WS  BREVIARY.  27 

What  fare  was  served !     What  joyous  hours  were  spent ! 
What  beauteous  maidens  handed  him  the  wine  ! 
What  brilliant  lustres  sparkled  through  the  hall! 
And  at  the  end,  —  the  host  has  paid  the  score! 
—  Who  lightly  thinks  of  life  and  mirthsomely, 
Well,  for  him  too,  't  is  made  and  perfected. 


IV. 
True  Riches. 

Men  —  even  rich  men  —  have  not,  after  all, 

Such  very  lofty  thoughts.     Let  come  what  will, 

Let  them  do  ill,  or  leave  the  good  undone, — 

Still  they  will  house  themselves,  will  eat  and  drink. 

They  will  exist !     This  comfort  riches  bring, 

This  is  the  greatness  of  the  great  and  high. 

Yet  hast  thou  mind  and  knowledge,  love  and  works, 

Thou  hast  then  in  thyself  and  in  the  world 

W7hatever  gold  can  give  thee  ;   only  that 

The  finer  sense  and  the  nobility, 

The  fill  of  beauty,  and  capacity 

For  joy  the  great  heart  has,  the  rich  man  —  wants. 

Be  soul,  then  hast  thou  soul!  —  have  peace  of  soul, 

And  in  thee  is  a  treasury  of  true  wealth. 

v. 

Bereaved  Parental  Love  consoled. 

How  else  would  God  care  for  himself  on  earth, 
If  he  appeared  as  child,  to  live  there,  than 
By  simply  putting  love  into  the  hearts 
Of  mother  and  of  father  ?     If  the  child 


28  THE  LAYMAN'S'  BREVIARY. 

Dies,  now,  how  can,  on  the  instant,  love,  too,  die, 

Or  in  the  heart's  blood  lose  itself  again  ? 

Does  not  the  vine,  when  cut,  still  weep  and  bleed? 

Then  weep,  O  stricken  mother,  for  thy  child! 

Bewail  his  loss !     Thou  mourn'st  a  heavenly  thing, 

Yet  this  know  clearly  in  thy  sorrows :    this 

Know  surely  in  thy  tears  :    Thou  lovest  still ! 

Still  lov'st!     Still  doest  what  thou  didst  before! 

And  this,  too,  think,  I  pray  thee  :    who  it  was 

Thou  heldest  on  thy  bosom,  in  thy  arms, 

And  who  it  was  that  loved  thee  so,  and  looked 

So  childlike  on  thee  out  of  those  true  eyes ! 

And  canst  thou  guess,  weep  not  disconsolately: 

For  he  thou  weepest  for  needs  not  thy  tears. 

For  thine  own  comfort  only  wail  and  weep ; 

And  lov'st  thou  God,  who  loves  thee,  love  thyself, — 

And  let  it  dry  thy  tears  to  think  thou  liv'st! 

And  see'st  the  All-present,  not  a  child  alone ! 


VI. 

How  to  conquer  and  cure  the  Ill-tempered. 

Treat  every  bad  man  gently,  tenderly! 
Meet  him  with  help !     For  thou  canst  hardly  think 
How  poor  his  being  is,  what  strength  he  spends 
To  hold  himself  upright  amidst  the  throng 
Of  nobler  natures.     Be  right  mild  to  him, 
The  bitter  and  morose !     Thou  knowest  not 
What  heavy,  year-long  sufferings,  in  the  form 
Of  low-voiced  mutterings,  gather  on  his  lips, 
How  his  whole  heavy  future  takes  the  shape 
Of  a  dark  visage  to  thine  eyes  ;   and  thou 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  2g 

Wouldst  be  more  harsh  to  him  than  he  to  thee  ? 

Meet  thou  the  ugly-tempered  lovingly, 

For  Love  is  what  he  thinks  to  do  without ; 

And  if  he  noticed  thy  forbearance,  —  still 

Press  not  his  hand !   nor  weep,  not  inwardly, 

Else  will  he  too  burst  into  tears  aloud ! 

No,  sighing  say :    what  dear  ones  thou  hast  lost ! 

What  dear  ones  he  may  lose!     Then  shall  he  feel, 

He  lives!  he  loves!     Be  hard  to  him,  —  from  love. 


VII. 

How  soon  we  lose  our  Children. 

Hold  diligent  converse  with  thy  children!   have  them 

Morning  and  evening  round  thee,  love  thou  them 

And  win  their  love  in  these  rare,  beauteous  years  ; 

For  only  while  the  short-lived  dream  of  childhood 

Lasts,  are  they  thine,  —  no  longer!     When  youth  comes 

Much  passes  through  their  thoughts,  —  which  is  not  thou, 

And  much  allures  their  hearts,  —  which  thou  hast  not. 

They  gain  the  knowledge  of  an  older  world 

Which  fills  their  souls  ;    and  floats  before  them  now 

The  Future.     And  the  Present  thus  is  lost. 

Then,  with  his  little  travelling  pocket  full 

Of  indispensables,  the  boy  goes  forth. 

Weeping  thou  watchest  till  he  disappears, 

And  never  after  is  he  thine  again  ! 

He  comes  back  home, — he  loves,  —  he  wins  a  maid, — 

He  lives  !     They  live,  and  others  spring  to  life 

From  him,  —  and  now  thou  hast  a  man  in  him, — 

A  human  being, — but  no  more  a  child! 

Thy  daughter,  wedded,  takes  a  frequent  joy 


30  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

In  bringing  thee  her  children  to  thy  house! 
Thou  hast  the  mother,  —  but  the  child  no  more!  — 
Hold  diligent  converse  with  thy  children  !   have  them 
Morning  and  evening  round  thee,  love  thou  them, 
And  win  their  love  in  the  rare,  beauteous  years ! 


VIII. 

Living  in  those  we  Love. 

Whoever  cannot  live  in  those  he  loves, 

In  days  when  they  are  far  from  him,  yea,  dead, 

Full  often  must  have  lost  them.     He  alone 

Possesses  his  beloved,  his  heart's  friends, 

In  blessed,  bright,  uninterrupted  presence, 

Who  in  their  spirit  and  peculiar  being 

Lives  all  his  days  and  loves  to  look  on  all 

Events,  and  smile  on  all,  as  they  would  do. 

So  have  I  oft ;    and  when  the  silent  friends 

Smiled  from  my  eyes  upon  a  word,  a  work, 

Or  spoke  aloud  together  with  my  might, 

Or  graciously  showed  forth  their  joy  from  me, — 

Then  have  I  wept  alone !    their  tranquil  life 

In  me,  has  awed  me  like  a  miracle, 

And  deeply  have  I  felt:    "So  shall  they  still 

Dwell  with  me  all  my  days  until  the  end." 

IX. 

Envy. 

The  violet,  enviest  thou  its  drop  of  dew  ? 
The  dew-drop,  enviest  thou  its  morning-sun, 
Whose  prism  is  imaged  in  its  globe  ?     The  Bee, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  31 

Her  sweet  and  purple-velvet  thistle-top 

O'er  which  she  floats  with  busy  art  and  toil?  — 

That  dost  thou  not! — Well,  then,  deal  so  with  man; 

Begrudge  him  nothing !   nothing  envy  him ! 

For  he  too  has  his  thistle-top, — the  earth! 

O'er  which  he  floats  with  busy  art  and  toil ; 

His  spirit  is  the  drop  of  dew,  wherein 

The  world  is  pictured  for  a  few  short  days : 

And  dearer  than  the  tender  violet 

Pays  for  her  dew-drop,  pays  he  for  each  hour 

Of  gladness  with  its  loss  and  thousand  tears, 

Which  he  for  others  weeps,  and  others  soon 

Will  weep  for  him  !     For  to  poor  mortal  man 

The  very  goodness  of  the  good,  and  even 

Their  very  being,  casts  before  itself 

The  shadow  of  a  still  and  noble  woe ! 


X. 

Beauty. 

Beauty  the  offspring  is  of  a  free  soul 

And  vigorous  healthiness.     Free  tribes  of  men 

Who  have  thought  nobly,  greatly,  —  simply  lived, — 

Have  in  the  mass  been  fair.     Would'st  thou  have  beauty, 

Then  give  the  people  freedom,  noble  aims, 

Busy  them  with  great  work.     Humanity, 

—  Even  on  the  way  to  freedom,  as  its  thought 

Grows  freer,  nobler,  and  it  sees  and  lives 

More  truly,  is  already  on  the  way 

Into  that  realm  of  beauty  which  one  day 

Shall  bloom  on  earth  ;    for  beauty  of  the  form 

Does  but  express  a  beauty  of  the  soul ; 


32  THE  LAYMAN  S  BREVIARY. 

A  noble  fruit  grows  from  a  noble  stem. 
O  what  good  things  Humanity  one  day 
Shall  win  together  and  enjoy  together! 


XI. 

Influence  of  Faith  in  the  Eternal  Life  on  the  Present. 

Say  not :    "  I  make  no  great  account  of  life ; 

I  could  not  choose  but  take  it,  as  it  is, 

It  was  a  gift,  —  and  finding  fault  with  gifts 

Is  not  polite  ! "  —  O  what  mistake  is  thine  ! 

Not  as  a  gift  hast  thou  received  thy  life! 

Before  thou  could'st  receive  it,  thou  must  be!* 

Thou  hast,  then,  an  old  right  divine  herein, 

Thou  canst,  as  Spirit,  ask  the  Spirit  of  Spirits : 

"  What  does  it  mean  ?     How  stands  it  in  our  house  ? 

What  weighs  on  us  ?    What  needs  to  be  set  right  ? 

Who  is  't  would  hold  us  down  ?     Who  lifts  us  up 

And  decks  for  us  this  isthmus-time  of  earth  ?  " 

And  were  this  time  to  us  the  only  time, 

It  were  invaluable  ;    then  the  bad 

Were  doubly  bad,  the  good  man  heavenly  good. 

Because  thou  art  an  heir  of  endless  life, — 

Fly  to  the  succor  of  the  miserable ! 

Help  every  sufferer;    not  thy  bread  alone, 

Thy  garment,  but  thy  very  body  give, 

A  joyful  sacrifice,  to  save  a  child, 

Much  more  thy  race,  from  tyranny  and  woe ! 

For  what  is  death  itself?   no  more  to  thee 

Than  lightly  through  the  flame  to  pass  thy  hand. 

*  "At  the  birth  of  my  life  if  I  wished  it  or  no, 

No  question  was  asked  me, — it  could  not  be  so!" 

COLERIDGB. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  33 


XII. 

A  large  View  of  Man  begets  Patience, 

In  all  things  act  with  a  large  oversight, 

Appreciating  each  whole  nature's  worth, 

Then  wilt  thou  meet  each  one  with  gentleness ! 

The  mother,  pleased  a  moment  since  to  watch 

Her  darling's  smile,  behold,  she  smites  him  now, 

Vexed  at  some  momentary  naughtiness  ; 

She  bundles  up  the  playthings  of  the  child, 

Threatening  to  send  him  to  the  colliers'  huts ! 

So  wives  do,  and  ev'n  mothers  do  the  same. 

But  do  thou  rather  imitate  the  child: 

For  now,  when  comes  the  hour  to  part  from  her, 

He  sees  ev'n  in  his  mother's  angry  form 

All  those  soft  tokens  of  a  mother's  love 

That  have  been  with  him  from  the  cradle  up, 

And  lent  a  charm  to  all  the   days  and  nights ! 

He  thinks  of  all  the  apples  and  the  pears 

That  he  must  miss  forever,  evermore, — 

Now  he  kneels  down  before  her,  and  the  mother 

Relents,  exiles  him  not,  —  but  punishes; 

And  lo,  the  child  kisses  his  mother's  hands  ! 


XIII. 
Woman. 

O  not  unsearchable  is  woman's  mind. 
Clearly  it  stood  revealed  in  the  long  stream 
Of  lapsing  ages  in  the  days  of  old ; 
Only  unhappier  far  is  she  than  man, 


34  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Who,  like  the  earth,  displays  in  open  bloom 

His  deepest  mysteries,  while  the  tender  heart 

Of  woman,  like  the  fig,  blooms  inwardly. 

To  know,  then,  whom  her  earthly  love  desires, 

How  strong,  how  rich  Heaven's  dowry  is  in  her, 

How  noble,  virtuous,  steadfast  each  one  is,  — 

There  is  the  riddle!     Often  dark  to  her; 

For  where  she  loves,  herself  is  only  love. 

She  is,  she  has  naught  else,  —  not  even  herself; 

She  is  as  her  beloved, — good  or  bad; 

She  is  as  is  the  human  race  itself, 

Whose  pathway,  full  of  comfort  she  attends, — 

Like  man,  only  a  little  better,  ever. 

For  he  who  knoweth  woman,  knoweth  man, 

He  only  who  knows  love,  knows  woman,  too, 

Time  and  the  past,  and  spring  and  earth  and  heaven. 


XIV. 
Man  in  his  complex  Relations. 

How  various  the  relations  of  one  man : 

The  king  calls  him  his  subject,  whom  again 

The  captain  calls  his  corporal ;    and  again 

The  clergyman  calls  his  parishioner, 

The  alderman  his  fellow-citizen. 

His  parents  call  him   "Son";   but  then  his  children, 

The  boys  and  girls  at  home,  —  they  say  to  him: 

My  father!     And  the  mother*  says:    my  man! 

The  oldest  master  of  his  handicraft 

Calls  him  his  fellow-master  ;  —  the  physician 

Calls  him  his  patient;   but  the  grave-digger 

*  That  is  the  German  "mother,"  the  wife. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Calls  him  :    our  corpse ;   and  mother  earth,  her  dead ; 
And  our  Lord  God  calls  him :    my  creature.     Who 
Can  say,  now,  he  is  neither  of  all  these  ? 
And  who  can  say  that  he  is  all  of  these  ? 
Happy  were  he  who  could  be  all,  at  once, 
And  still,  withal,  remain  a  genuine  man. 

xv. 
The  Happiness  of  moderate  Desires. 

The  poor  man,  like  the  sick  man,  must  beware 

Not  to  attempt  what  is  beyond  his  power ! 

For  then  will  he  find  out  how  weak  he  is. 

His  strength  sufficed,  so  long  as  he  lay  still 

On  his  sick-bed,  to  reach  his  hand  and  take 

That  which  was  nearest ;    for  the  first  time,  now, 

He  feels  how  much  he  wants,  and  heavily 

And  sadly  sinks  into  his  depth  of  woe. 

Patiently  in  the  circle,  then,  to  abide, 

Which  God  has  marked  out  for  us,  gives  us  strength 

Of  strongest  gladness,  even  of  gladdest  hearts ! 


XVI. 
Yearnings  for  the  Afterivorld. 

How  many  thousand  human  hearts  once  yearned, 

In  Egypt,  in  Eleusis,  on  the  Indus, — 

Yearned  for  the  afterworld,  —  Elysium  ! 

They  longed  one  day  only  to  see  its  sun, 

To  pluck  one  rose  from  that  celestial  spring,  — 

And  then  contentedly  lie  down  and  —  die. 

Deep  in  this  longing  lay  the  simple  wish 


35 


36  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

For  life  eternal :  —  that  Humanity, 

That  fair  Humanity  might  live  and  love 

Forevermore  in  an  unfading  spring. 

In  the  bright  realm  of  an  unsetting  sun ! 

Be  it  so !     Ye  mummies  !   be  as  men  who  died 

With  joy !   be  dead  with  joy !   the  earliest. 

And  latest  generations  by  one  heart 

Are  linked  together!     Therefore  do  I  now, 

Like  to  a  herald  of  the  ages,  send 

To  your  old  world  a  loud  and  joyful  cry :  — 

We  are  !     Humanity  has  gained  the  shore 

For  which  you  once  embarked !  from  holy  heaven 

Shines  down  on  us  even  now  the  eternal  Sun, 

Blooms  round  the  earth  that  everlasting  spring. 

Love  lives  !     The  living  have  their  life  in  love, 

And  they  that  love  live  blest,  —  around  us  blooms 

The  golden  grove  of  the  Hesperides. 

The  Universe  is  ours  !     And  ours  is  God ! 

The  rose  still  lives  upon  its  flaming  bush  ! 

The  little  violet  hath  not  passed  away! 

The  lark  hath  still  the  song  and  look  of  old, 

Still  the  white  snow-drop  has  the  same  green  stripes! 

And  even  the  glow-worm's  little  lamp  at  night 

That  trails  along  the  shadow  of  the  grass 

Is  not  yet  quenched, — far  less  the  stars  on  high!  — 

With  joy  we  live,  —  be  ye  then  dead  with  joy! 

And  as  ye  doubted  of  an  afterworld,  — 

In  which  with  full  conviction  we  abide, — 

Now  then  do  we,  too,  of  an  afterworld 

Not  doubt!     And  as  ye  loved  your  passing  world 

So  fervently  and  wept  so  for  its  loss, 

And  painted  it  for  us  so  gloriously, 

That  world  of  yours  we  truly  first  possess ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  so  two  heavens  at  once  encompass  us! 
And  in  the  present,  in  these  realms  of  space, 
Lies  a  great  deep,  —  immeasurably  deep! 
And  in  the  immensity,  within  the  heart, 
Within  the  spirit  lies  our  blessedness, — 
In  one  man's  life  all  ages  lie  contained! 


XVII. 

Reverence  all  Men  ! 

With  reverence  greet  thou  every  human  head, 

That  comes  to  meet  thee  in  the  light  of  day, 

Ay,  every  head,  which,  issuing  from  the  world 

Of  cause  mysterious,  old  as  earth  itself, 

Young  as  the  flowers,  plays  with  them  on  the  earth 

So  peacefully.     For  knowest  thou  who  it  is?  — 

It  is  a  miracle,  as  is  the  flower, — 

Only  a  greater  and  a  lovelier. 

And  if  thou  wilt,  go,  also,  greet  the  rose ! 

And  if  thou  wilt,  then  kiss  it :    "  In  God's  name ! " 

Not  dull  and  cold  pass  by  the  stone  itself, 

For  know,  see,  feel,  and  verily  believe: 

"They  are!"     Thy  dream  annuls  no  grain  of  sand; 

It  sleeps  and  shines  before  thee  in  the  realm 

Of  sunlight.     They  and  thou  are  in  the  same 

Kingdom  of  heaven  ;   companions  of  thy  life 

Are  they,  like  thee  in  those  firm  magic  halls, 

Whence  nothing  bans  them,  naught  exterminates, 

Therein  they  still  abide,  howe'er  they  change. 

Whatever  is,  is  food  for  endless  wonder. 

And,  if  thou  wilt,  in  silence  bare  thy  head 

Before  the  old  man  whom  they  bear  softly  by 


37 


38  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

In  yonder  coffin  !     Wilt  thou  drop  a  tear 
For  him,  or  for  thyself,  perchance  for  earth, — 
Only  forget  thou  not  meanwhile,  the  bliss, 
The  miracle  that  forced  it  to  thine  eyes ! 


XVIII. 
Practical  Atheism  out  of  Time  and  Place. 

Man,  nothing  out  of  time  !     But  out  of  time 

The  very  days  of  this  thy  life  may  be, 

If  thou  discern'st  therein  no  spirit  divine, 

Who  rules  in  every  moment,  and  brings  forth 

Only  with  self-restrained  omnipotence, 

That  which  He  will  complete,  and  by  this  will 

Must  square  His  every  act.     Discern'st  thou  Him, 

Then  everywhere  in  Nature  reckon  thou 

On  Him,  and  count  on  Him  in  thine  own  breast ! 

And  know  for  certain  :     He  too  counts  on  thee. 

A  milleped  is  not  devoid  of  feet, 

The  spider's-web  its  myriad  threads  compose ; 

The  giant  fig-tree  on  the  Indian  plains 

Supports  its  greatness  round  about  with  stems 

Which  it  puts  forth  straight  upward  from  its  roots ! 


XIX. 

Value  of  Old  Age. 

Say,  when  does  life  come  to  be  something  worth?  — 
When  we  know  how  to  live  and   have  lived  through 
Much  in  the  wondrous  mansion  of  the  earth  ; 
When  we  live  thirty  —  forty  —  years  each  day, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  39 

And  every  thought  comes  laden  with  the  sweets 

Of  earth,  as  heavy-laden  as  the  bee 

With  honey  gathered  on  the  flowery  mead, 

Home  to  the  brain  ;    when  every  feeling  stirs 

A  sea  of  feeling  in  us,  made  of  all 

That  ever  we  enjoyed.     For  all  that  man 

E'er  thought,  hoped,  wished,  wept  over  ....  though  in  vain, 

Stays  by  him  faithfully  forevermore  ! 

When  it  comes  back  in  thought,  then  is  it  true, 

Fulfilled,  and  made  a  portion  of  his  life  ; 

Our  fair,  good  things  we  do  a  thousand  times  ! 

Our  very  faults  a  thousand   times  amend ! 

Each  is  one  day  the  man  he  willed  to  be, 

And  so  becomes  the  angel, — that  he  is. 

Spare,  then,  dear  youth,  thy  life,  till  comes  the  time 

When  't  is  no  more  a  burden  and  a  dream ! 

The  time  when  even  the  beggar  is  a  king 

Of  days,  —  (which  now  are  days  of  blessedness), — 

Of  spirits,  who  now  all  minister  to  him, 

Of  his  own  life  a  master  and  a  king ! 

The  life  of  an  old  man  is  heaven  itself! 

'T  is  bliss  itself!   for  in  it  dwells  a  God. 


XX. 

Godlike  Contentment. 

Godlike  contentedness  is  his  alone, 

Who  has  a  great  and  godlike  consciousness, 

That  we  are  not  that  only  which  we  seem, 

Nor  have  no  more  than  that  which  we  possess. 

The  life  of  every  man  creates  itself 

Its  opposite,  and  each  in  spirit  lives 


40  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

That  which  he  lives  not  in  reality. 

Thus  is  the  rich  made  poor,  and  must  be  so, 

By  poor  who  pass  before  him,  —  all  his  gold 

Defends  him  not  from  this !     The  poor  is  made 

Almost  too  rich  by  those  ten  thousand  stores 

Of  wealth  he  misses  !    him  his  poverty 

Harms  not  withal,  —  nay!    through  his  tears  the  world 

Shines  glorified.     The  penitent  beholds 

For  the  first  time  the  pure  and  holy  God, 

Because  he  is  the  sinner !     So  fair  is  life 

Lived  on  this  earth  as  counterpart  of  heaven, 

Which  as  a  picture  floats  before  our  eyes  ! 

Covers  us  as  a  bell ;   and  ev'n  this  fair  • 

Picture,  this  counterpart,  is  part  of  man, 

Linking  his  life  to  all  existences, 

And  making  him  part  of  the  mighty  all 

Thus  live  we  in  the  feeling  of  that  whole, 

To  which  the  inner  blessedness  belongs, 

And  recognizing  that,  we  are  content. 


XXI. 

The  Mystery  of  the  Finite. 

All  is  eternal,  of  itself.     And  hence, 

The  highest  master-piece  was :    to  create 

The  transitory,  —  that  which  should  not  seem 

To  have  been  before  ;  should  seem  to  have  passed  away, 

Perhaps  have  passed  away,  when  seen  no  more ; 

And,  what  is  wonderful,  should  yet  fill  space, 

And  time,  and  undeniably  exist. 

The  unfathomable  lake  of  energies 

The  Master,  therefore,  once  let  overflow 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  41 

In  a  broad,  full,  unceasing  cataract 

Down  an  immeasurable,  steep  abyss. 

Silently  plunges  now  the  lake,  and  calm 

The  image  formed  by  masses  evermore 

Speeding  and  gliding  down  the  precipice;* 

Bright  in  the  sun  it  gleams  ;    firm,  motionless, 

Above  the  eternal  fall  the  rainbow  stands, 

And  hides  the  horrors  with  its  beauteous  hues. 

And  we,  —  along  the  shoreless,  unmapped  lake 

Sail  on,  inevitably  onward  still, 

Still  silently  drawn  nearer  to  its  fall, 

And  as  we  go,  sing  songs,  ay,  farewell  songs 

To  dear  ones  who  sail  after,  far  behind, 

Who  also,  singing,  soon  shall  reach  the  fall 

And  plunge,  where  we  erst  plunged  and  disappeared 

In  foam  and  thunder,  —  in  the  great  world-stream. 

Such  is  the  immense  prerogative  of  man : 
Memory  and  Hope,  and  pain  and  woe,  the  death 
Of  all  things  beautiful  and  all  he  loves, 
And  his  own  death  to  feel  as  poignantly 
As  if  he  were  himself  the  life  that  formed, 
Ay,  and  the  death  too,  that  —  destroys  it  all. 
For,  to  be  Nature's  tried  and  proven  spirit, — 
And  now  with  holy,  awed,  adoring  joy, 
Trembling  to  gaze  on  all  the  uncounted  host 
Of  innocent  beings  who,  without  a  word, 
Come  into  life  and  pass  away  in  death, — 
This  gives  our  human  life  its  crowning  charm. 

*  See  Sterling's  Hymn  of  a  Hermit:  — 

"The  stream  of  life  from  fountains  flows,"  &c. 


42  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXII. 

Without  Vision  the  People  perish. 

To  have  an  object,  clear  and  well-defined, 

To  long  for  that,  to  live  for  that  alone, 

Is  the  divinest  power  possessed  by  man, 

Which  only  love  and  youth  can  exercise  ;  — 

The  Spirit  that  not  long  since  came  down  from  heaven, 

Of  which,  unconscious  now,  it  still  is  full, 

While  yet  it  softly  opens  wide  its  eyes 

On  all  earth  holds  of  new  and  beautiful. 

Has  man  attained  the  object  of  his  heart,  — 

The  heavenly  stream  still  flows,  e'en  here  on  earth, 

Wherein  he  has  come  down  as  if  to  bathe, 

And  soul  and  world  are  one,  and  death  and  life. 

Has  he  not  gained  it,  —  then  the  soul  wakes  up 

As  in  a  living  grave  ;    the  starry  tent 

Seems  to  him  overhead  a  charnel-house, 

And  Spring's  perfume  a  smell  of  mould ;   his  death 

Is  but  a  flight,  and  without  blessing  it, 

He  leaves  the  world,  wherein  he  blindly  strayed. 

What  is  the  ideal  then,  whereof  we  speak  ? 

And  what  do  love  and  youth  behold  therein? 

Love  sees  divinely  the  divine,  for  her 

It  wears  no  veil ;   in  naked  majesty 

She  sees  with  awe  the  work  of  God ;   she  forms 

Not  the  conception  only  but  the  man ; 

Whoso  has  loved,  he  only  is  informed, 

And  only  he  who  is  informed,  has  lived. 

And  though  what  dawned  on  him  has  disappeared, 

That  annuls  not  the  world's  divinity! 

Man  in  his  hoary  age   forgets  it  not; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  43 

He  dies, — it  goes  down  with  him  to  the  grave! 
There  where  all  things  divine  and  beautiful 
Abide,  it  meets  him.     He  who  never  formed 
A  purpose,  he  has  never  loved  nor  lived ; 
In  him,  of  him,  is  nothing  to  be  formed,  — 
He  cannot  even  die.     For  verily 
Only  the  happy  man  can  ever  die, 
In  the  sweet  sense,  the  noble  sense,  God  wills 
The  name  of  death  shall  bear  to  pious  hearts. 


XXIII. 

Night  the  great  Leveller. 

Night  doth  discrown  all  kings;   the  Judge,  the  Priest, 

Exist  no  more  ;   philosophers  and  fools, 

Doctors  and  churches,  all  have  disappeared. 

Ruins  are  now  no  more,  Time's   wounds  are  healed, 

Nothing  is  any  longer  new  or  old, 

No  child  is  young,  no  old  man  full  of  days ; 

None  is  unhappy  longer,  no  one  begs. 

The  monarch's  sceptre  and  the  beggar's  staff 

Both  sleep  alike,  forgotten  for  a  night; 

As  in  a  grave,  Humanity  takes  rest, 

Eternal  feelings  sweetly  lull  its  heart, 

Eternal  thoughts  silently  fill  its  brain. — 

Could,  then,  Humanity,  some  morn,  forget 

What  it  had  dreamed  itself  on  former  days,  — 

And  could  it  still  be  what  it  was  at  night: 

Harmonious  and  godlike, — ah,  how  well 

Were  it  for  man  !    then  all  were  rich  and  free  !  — 

But  see,  't  is  so !   time  makes  it  so  full  fast ! 

Humanity  already  half  forgets 


44  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

That  which  it  was  in  other  times  ;   all  dreams 

Of  the  old,  heavy,  superstitious  days ; 

And  what  it  once  lived  through  in  all  the  nights 

Of  its  existence,  in  broad  daylight  now 

Begins  to  dream  !     The  feeling  with  which,  oft, 

Yea,  many  thousand  times,  on  going  to  sleep, 

—  And  what  is  dying  but  a  going  to  sleep?  — 

It  laid  aside  the  soil  and  stain  of  earth, 

And  all  the  instruments  of  juggling  sense, — 

This  evanescent  and  exalting  mood 

Makes  fast  its  lodgement  in  men's  waking  thoughts, 

And  soon  't  will  not  be  Day  that  rules  the  world, 

No,  Night  will  hold  the  sceptre,  great,  free  Night, 

The  equalizer,  mother  of  all  gods. 

And  whoso  in  the  sun's  bright  light,  e'en  now, 

Conceives  great  thought,  with  holy  feeling  thrills, 

For  him  the  sun  and  time  have  disappeared, 

And  like  a  God  he  stands  in  ancient  night, 

The  magic  glow  of  the  great  Spirit's  all, 

The  warm,  fresh,  primal  fountain,  God  himself. 

XXIV. 
Do  the  Duty  -which  is  the  least  Convenient. 

Wilt  thou,  of  two  things,  know  which  is  the  right  ? 
It  never  is  the  more  convenient  one  ! 
What  gives  thee  the  most  trouble,  that  is  it! 
Or  would  become  so,  were  it  not!     For  so 
Thou  coriquerest  matter's  ancient  sluggishness, 
Thou  conquerest  thine  own  heart.     For,  be  it  odd, 
Or  be  it  godlike,  what  is  good  for  thee, 
Is  good  for  others  ;   out  in  the  great  world, 
There  only  canst  thou  thine  own  fortune  earn. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXV. 
The  Evening  Star. 

In  Spring,  there  stood  the  morning  star  in  Heaven, 

Looked  round  on  all  the  blooming  earth  and  saw 

Her  children  blessed  with  seeming  endless  joy, 

Out  of  the  halls  unsearchable  of  Heaven 

Enkindled  on  the  earth.     He  saw  and  smiled, 

And  vanished  in  the  young  day's  rosy  light.  — 

In  Autumn  he  came  back  as  Evening  Star, 

And  all  the  pomp  of  Spring  had  long  been  quenched. 

Again  he  saw  and  smiled ;   but  this  time  stayed 

Till  all  earth's  children  softly  sank  to  sleep. 

As  toward  a  lighthouse  from  the  waste  of  waves 

I  looked  across  to  him  and  said  in  thought: 

Whatever  comes  to  us  beneath  this  heaven, 

Whate'er  such  godlike  creatures  look  upon 

And  smiling  bless,  that  bless  thou  too,  O  Man  ! 

Who  does  not,  in  his  loved  one's  sight,  with  joy 

The  noblest,  and  with  ease  the  highest  things? 

Who  dies  not  gladly,  when  his  King  looks  on  ? 

Up  yonder  lives,  thou  knowest !   another  King ! 

There  other  loving  eyes  look  down  on  thee  ! 

And  wert  thou  wholly  and  forever  dead, — 

When  thou  wert  laid  to  rest,  what  were  it  more 

Than  when  the  child  sinks  in  his  mother's  arms 

To  sleep,  the  father  watching!  —  What  a  sight 

For  gods  to  see,  —  a  childlike,  pious  man! 

But  lo,  now !    thou  hast  seen  the  Eternal  Star 

Which,  each  new  Spring,  returns  so  silently, 

Sent  by  the  Father  as  a  monitor; 

Who  longs  not  for  the  eternal,  loves  it  not, — 


45 


46  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Can  he  remain  immortal,  if  he  is  ? 
And  he  who  in  the  Father's  endless  love 
Lets  his  soul  sink,  who  grasps  eternity, 
And  loves  the  Eternal  One,  —  becomes  thereby 
Eternal,  were  he  not  so  !     There  is  One 
Eternal !     Somewhere  is  an  anchor  fixed  ! 
There  is  a  hold  to  this  world's  fleeting  show ! 
Thinking  of  this,  clearly  receiving  it 
Into  thy  soul,  thou  diest,  thou  canst  die, 
O  loving,  highly  blessed  and  gifted  Manf 
Thoughts  die  not.     If  thou  hast  thyself  become 
Thought,  love,  benignity,  —  art  thou  not  then, 
Thyself  the  spirit  that  holds  fast  the  world, 
Humanity  and  —  yonder  Evening  Star? 


XXVI. 
Value  of  the  World. 

"What    may  the   world    be    worth,"  —  say'st    thou,   pure 

spirit.  — 

I  know  not ;   haply  to  the  dead  not  much ; 
A  little  more  than  "not  much"  to  the  old, 
Much  more  to  youth,  to  curious  interest  more, 
But  everything  to  them  that  love  it.     Things 
Are  trivial,  a  small  thing  is  life  itself; 
At  last  it  is  and  was  nothing  at  all 
Except  our  dream  of  it,  our  longing  for  it, 
The  joy  and  pleasure  that  we  found  therein, 
And  our  contentment  with  it.     In  our  breast, 
There  lies  the  value  of  the  world  to  us ; 
We  journey  onward  through  it,  like  the  sun  ; 
How  bright  we  glistened  and  how  warm  we  beamed, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  47 

How  many  flowers  we  called  up  from  the  earth,  — 
That  tells  how  fair,  how  joyful  was  our  day ! 
The  moon  will  hardly  speak  well  of  our  earth, 
Because  her  cold  face  sees  it  but  by  night. 


XXVII. 

Spring  Thoughts  of  Immortality. 

At  the  approach  of  Spring  I  ask  myself: 
What  is  it  fitting  man  should  prize?  —  At  most 
It  were  the  stars,  if  they  but  have  the  power 
To  bring  forth  anything  immortal.     Else 
They  sink  in  value,  only  to  be  prized 
Because  they  are  themselves  long-lived,  perhaps, 
And  then  this  earth  too,  were  respectable, — 
Like  an  old  veteran  of  a  thousand  years. 
But  if  the  stars  above  us  are  no  more 
Than  blooming  islands  in  the  ethereal  sea, 
Whereon  in  Spring-time  flowers  and  summer  birds 
Alight  and  settle,  and  perchance  fair  men, 
Then  neither  these  nor  they  have  any  worth 
Unless  there  is  some  home  prepared  for  them ! 
Then  naught  is  to  be  prized,  but  only  man, 
Who  prizes  naught  else  !   only  a  pure  soul 
That  builds  up  its  own  worth,  —  in  lowliness, 
And  still,  even  as  a  tale,  the  world  is  fair! 

XXVIII. 

Nature's  Method  of  curing  Man's  Errors. 

To  do  the  right  in  a  wrong  way,  is  wrong; 
To  take  the  right  in  a  wrong  way,  is  wrong; 


48  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

'T  is  a  sore  wrong :    harshly  to  hold  the  right ! 

Rudely  to  root  out  error,  too,  is  error. 

With  gentle  hands  remove  the  noxious  thing 

From  man,  exchange  it ;    first  of  all,  with  care, 

Supplying  in  its  place,  the  better  thing. 

Lo,  each  delusion,  each  mistake  of  man 

Kindly  and  firmly  Nature  overcomes, 

The  illusion  meanwhile  humoring ;   as  a  mother 

At  evening  clears  away  her  darling's  toys 

Out  of  the  chamber,  gently  extricating 

From  his  wee  hand,  as  in  the  cradle  there 

He  sweetly  slumbers,  his  hard  horse  of  wood, 

Sets  it  away  and  smiles  on  the  dear  child, 

Who,  in  his  empty  little  hand  still  dreams 

To  hold  his  treasures  fast,  —  and  fondly  smiles, 

For  every,  even  the  smallest,  property 

Is  precious,  rare,  and  irreplaceable, 

And  men  themselves  would  weep  unceasingly 

Over  their  losses,  like  a  little  child, 

When  it  has  left  its  wreath  among  the  flowers, 

Did  not  wise  Nature  some  new  thing  contrive, 

Exalted  Mother,  who,  with  praise  and  stir, — 

Like  stormy  Spring  soothing  the  rifled  year,  — 

Holds  up  to  him  a  lovely  spectacle 

That  charms  and  chains  his  vision,  till  at  last 

His  little  hand  he  reaches  out  for  it, 

In  all  the  haste  of  long-denied  desire,  — 

Thus  forgets  ever  one  thing  in  another, 

And  takes  the  tears  of  sorrow  on  his  cheeks, 

Shed  for  the  old,  the  irrecoverable, 

Into  the  brightness  of  the  great,  new  joy, 

And  straight  with  new  tears  crowds  them  out  again, 

As  on  the  tree  young  buds  crowd  out  old  leaves 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  49 

In  autumn.     And  with  man  't  is  autumn  ever 
Round  him  !     And  in  him  an  Eternal  Spring ! 


XXIX. 

Death  of  the  Snow-drops. 

"O  vernal  sun,  and  O  thou  vernal  earth, 

Let  me  too  die  !     For  what  do  I  behold ! 

Scarcely  the  snow  is  melted,  scarce  the  first 

Dim  canopy  of  cloud  is  drawn  away, 

Scarcely  from  heaven  has  a  warm  breath  come  down 

To  play  and  whisper  in  the  old  dry  leaves 

Of  the  late  silenced  autumn,  scarcely  has 

The  earth  begun  to  put  forth  the  young  grass, — 

When  lo !    I  see  your  heads  already  pale  ; 

Even  now  ye  die,  ye  snow-drops !    silently 

And  patiently  ye  droop  them  to  the  old  earth ; 

Ye  go  !     And  not  till  now  the  violet  comes, 

The  larks  whirr  upward  and  the  almonds  bloom  ! 

How  much  you  will  not  look  upon,  dear  drops ! 

You  will  not  see  the  apple-tree  in  bloom, 

The  rose,  too,  nor  your  neighbor  strawberry, 

Nor  yet  the  cherry,  —  these  are  all  to  live, 

To  live  a  heavenly  life  above  your  grave, 

When  you  are  gone ;   and  you,  composed  and  calm, 

You  droop  your  heads  upon  the  ancient  earth ! " 

So  spake  I  weeping!  —  But  my  Spirit  said:  — 

You  leave  a  world  full  of  rich  life,  indeed, 

And  full  no  less  of  sad  presentiments : 

'T  will  not  be  yours  to  see  the  yellow  leaves, 

To  hear  the  sigh  of  autumn's  dying  breath, 

You  will  not,  like  the  aster,  live  to  see 

3  D 


50  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  death  of  all  things  beautiful,  you  will  not 
Be  the  last  flowers !     O  ye  are  fortunate, 
Snow-drops  !  —  and  yet  how  much  like  you  is  Man  ! 
Who,  when  he  dies  eighty  years  old,  still  breathes 
His  last  in  the  first  breath  of  endless  springs, 
Which  all  shall  bloom  when  he  is  gone,  —  is  gone:  — 
Freedom  and  Peace  and  tranquil  Blessedness  ! 
Snow-drops  !     Ah  yes,  ye  are  a  type  of  man, 
Called,  in  the  dawn  of  a  fair  life,  —  to  part! 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

MARCH. 


MARCH. 


I.  Maternal  Spirit  of  Spring. 

II.  Be  Temperate  in  all  Things. 

III.  The  Rose,  an  Emblem  of  Goodness. 

IV.  Hope  possesses  the  Future. 

V.  Be  Patient,  Content,  and  Calm. 

VI.  Man's  Pilgrimage  grows  Smoother. 

VII.  God's  Joy  and  Man's  Yearning. 

VIII.  Live  in  the  Present. 

IX.  Change  and  the  Unchangeable. 

X.  Be  thoughtful  toward  thy  Kind. 

XL  Thoughts  at  Napoleon's  Grave. 

XII.  War,  in  God's  Hands. 

XIII.  The  Exaltation  needed  for  Humility. 

XIV.  Moral  of  the  Spring  Flowers. 
XV.  God's  Reflection  in  Man's  Face. 

XVI.  Who  has  God  has  all  Things. 

XVII.  Be  content  with  the  greatest  Good. 

XVIII.  Bribery  the  general  Vice. 

XIX.  Earth  the  old  Toy-House. 

XX.  The  Claude  Glass  of  the  Spirit. 

XXL  No  Impression  is  lost. 

XXII.  Diabolus  the  Doubter. 

XXIII.  Misery  of  the  Miser. 

XXIV.  Blessing  of  Children. 

XXV.  Respect  for  Woman  tests  Man. 

XXVI.  The  Mystery  of  Evil. 

XXVII.  The  Heart  a  Diamond. 

XXVIII.  The  noble  Dead  still  live. 

XXIX.  Man  needs  all  Things. 

XXX.  Thy  Foes. 

XXXI,  The  Hall  of  Spring. 


MARCH. 


Maternal  Spirit  of  Spring. 

!OW,  after  long  Spring  warmth,  a  gentle  rain 
Distils  by  night  upon  the  silent  earth, 
And  all  the  myriad  newly  swollen  buds, 
And  all  young  flowers,  drink  in  so  silently, — • 
As  on  the  mother's  breast  the  new-born  child 

Tastes  the  first  drops,  —  so  gratefully  they  drink 

The  pure,  primeval,  holy  dew  of  Heaven, 

Which,  since  the  world  began,  has  suckled  all 

The  thousand  generations,  each  in  turn, 

Their  common  mother's  fresh  nectarean  milk ; 

And  blessed  now  is  Heaven  and  blest  all  they 

That  hang  upon  it  with  the  lips  of  flowers, 

While  it  bends  o'er  them  to  the  very  grass, 

As  if  it  wept  a  mother's  tears  of  joy. 

And  such  they  surely  are !     But  infinitely 

More  tender,  beautiful,  and  fervent  ones  ! 

And  so  when  thou,  then,  dear  young  human  mother ! 

Look'st  round  thee  in  the  spring,  behold  with  bliss 

Thy  nature  everywhere  diffused  abroad, 

And  see  it  sweetly  centred  in  thyself, 

And  look  down  thoughtfully  upon  thy  child  ! 


54  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


ii. 

Be  Temperate  in  all  Things. 

Be  temperate  in  all  things !  —  Let  the  stream 

Of  heavenly  bliss  flow  smoothly  through  thy  breast. 

Condemn  no  feeling ;   let  it  have  its  course.  — 

Bind  it  with  ice,  —  a  freshet  comes  at  last ! 

Be  no  oppressor !     The  oppressed  will  rise 

With  thousand  energies  unknown  before, 

And  madly  hurl  their  tyrant  in  the  air; 

No,  thou  wilt  not !  —  Be  ever  mild  and  kind. 

That  love  may  not  be  partiality, 

Unreasonable  and  unjust  to  others,  who 

Were  once,  or  one  day  will  be,  dear  to  thee. 

Hold  on  thy  course  unswerving,  like  the  sun, 

With  equal  light  and  warmth;    and  if  the  earth, — 

If  but  a  man,  turn  coldly  for  a  time, 

In  his  slant  course,  a  false,  wry  face  on  thee,  — 

Still  to  thyself  be  true,  and  verily, 

He  '11  find  himself  again  in  thee  at  last. 

Hope  steadily ;   art  thou  too  angry  now, 

Next  time  thou  wilt  too  fondly,  feebly  love ; 

When  thou  hast  sinned  too  much,  then  thou  wilt  pray 

Too  much.     By  overacting,  in  things  good 

As  well  as  evil,  an  incontinent  world 

Betrays  itself,  whose  noisy  Sunday  joy 

Shows  the  still  misery  of  its  week-day  life, 

To  which  each  day  that  comes  gives  ears  to  hear, 

For  which  each  day  couches  the  cataract; 

And  which  rejoices  only  in  the  old 

Blindness  and  deafness,  not  in  eye  and  ear ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  55 

in. 

The  Rose,  an  Emblem  of  Goodness. 

Art  thou  not  good  enough  to  be  a  man, 
Still  be  as  good  as  the  rose-bush's  root : 
Silently  hidden  in  the  earth,  unseen 
And  unobserved,  it  gathers  secret  force ; 
Puts  forth  a  stalk,  then  twigs,  and  on  the  twigs 
Leaves,  buds,  and  roses,  even  thorns;   the  roses 
It  nourishes,  with  fragrance  filling  them, 
And  if  thou  praisest,  ay,  or  pluckest  them, 
It  never  stirs,  —  it  feels,  within,  the  power 
To  multiply  itself  a  hundred-fold  ; 
And  even  the  thorns  it  beareth  not  in  vain  : 
For  when  in  spring  the  lamb  tears  off  his  wool, 
It  catches  with  the  thorns  each  little  flake 
And  holds  it  fast  with  patience  till  birds  come 
And  peck  and  pilfer  it  to  make  their  young 
A  soft,  warm  nest.     And  still  it  never  stirs  ! 
Be  at  least  as  good  as  the  rose's  root, 
If  thou  wilt  not  be  so  good  as  a  man. 


IV. 

Hope  possesses  the  Future. 

Whoever  hopes  and  wishes,  he  already 
Lives  in  the  future,  of  the  passing  time 
And  things  around  him,  scarcely  taking  note, 
Using  them  only  as  they  haply  serve 
For  steps  to  lead  him  to  his  distant  goal. 
So  sits  the  fisher  in  his  boat  and  uses 


56  THE  LAYMAN*  S  BREVIARY. 

The  everlasting  waters  only  as 

The  fulcrum  of  his  oar-blade's  pulse  and  play. 

And  lives  with  's  eye,  already  in  the  port 

He  only  sees  ;   e'en  now  with  wife  and  child 

Eats  from  the  table  by  the  glowing  hearth 

The  fish  that  still  flap  round  him  in  the  boat. 

Let  each  then  hope  for  something,  wish  for  something, 

Years  long  he  shall  enjoy  it  in  his  heart, 

And  lightly  sail  the  sea  of  heavy  days. 


V. 

Be  Patient,  Content,  and  Calm. 

Whoso  could  do  without  a  wish,  —  a  hope, — 

That  man  were  great!     For  nothing  in  his  thoughts 

Would  hide  from  him  that  great  world  out  of  doors, 

And  he  would  take  in  its  exhaustless  good, 

Its  inexpressible  beauty  every  day. 

Hast  thou  yet  rightly  scanned  no  dead  man's  face? 

What  touches  thee  in  him,  is  his  great  look : 

He  wishes,  hopes  no  more  !     He  will  accept 

With  pure  soul,  unreservedly,  again, 

Whatever  God  assigns  him,  certainly, 

As  true  as  he  is  dead,  and  as  God  lives. 

And  wait  thou  too  till  then  ;    for  all  will  die,  — 

And  dying  is  for  each  his  greatest  act. 

VI. 
Man's  Pilgrimage  grows  Smoother. 

Once,  in  the  days  of  old,  the  traveller  had 
A  weary  time,  climbing  the  rocky  back 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  57 

Of  the  old  mountains  ;   stumbled  oftentimes 

And  froze  in  snow  and  storm,  —  and  yearned  for  home  ! 

Now,  —  pleasantly,  at  ease,  he  floats  o'er  all, 

As  o'er  green  cornfields  floats  the  summer  air!  — 

I  sail  above  them  !  —  and  they  rest  below, 

Like  the  sea's  bottom,  like  the  smiling  coasts  ! 

Sooner  or  later,  good  Humanity  ! 

Nature  sinks  whatsoe'er  once  cumbered  thee, 

And  thou,  thou  glidest  peacefully  o'er  all, 

As  floats  o'er  grain-fields  green  the  summer  air ! 


VII. 

God's  Joy  and  Man's  Yearning. 

Supposing  once  a  man  were  only  God! 
What  lofty  joy  in  that  one  thing  were  his  ! 
Man  takes  delight  as  every  artist  does 
When  others  copy  him  ;    to  such  we  grant 
Not  only  pardon,  but  ev'n  love.     And  now, 
If  one  should  praise  and  honor  so  our  works, 
So  prize  and  love  them,  that  he  would  not  be 
Henceforward  parted  from  them,  evermore 
Should  fondly  bear  them  in  his  mind  and  heart, 
Ev'n  as  earth's  children  bear  the  works  of  God, 
O  what  a  lofty  joy  would  man  possess, 
If  man  were  God!  —  But  now  see  clearlier  !  — 
Each  man  possesses  truly  as  much  joy, 
And  is  as  great,  in  apprehending  God ; 
And  God  is,  —  what  we  cannot  comprehend!  — 
Is  his  own  wonder,  —  ay,  our  ignorance! 
What  lofty  joy  must  God  now  take  in  us, 
Who  from  the  cradle  even  to  the  grave, 


58  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

With  childish,  —  childlike  labor  day  and  night 

Busy  ourselves,  until  we  are  worn  out, 

With  all  His  things,  and  even  rob  ourselves 

Of  them,  that  they  may  exercise  our  souls ! 

Therefore  He  lets  his  works  forever  last, 

And  even  those  works,  —  which,  of  ourselves,  we  are! 


VIII. 
Live  in  the  Present. 

Spoil  not  thy  present  moment  by  the  Past, 

The  Future,  least  of  all  by  doing  wrong ! 

If  thou  expectest  better  luck,  —  to-morrow, — 

The  brightest  sun  seems  dim  to  thee  to-day, 

As  if  it  would  not  be  a  sun  to  thee 

Till  after  thou  wast  inwardly  eclipsed ! 

Rise  above  every  fortune,  reckon  none 

The  only  or  the  highest  one,  that  so 

Thou  still  may'st  keep  eyes,  heart,  and  senses  free 

To  live  in  harmony  with  further  days ; 

Cloud  not  the  sight  of  thy  past  days  with  tears, 

Nor  yet  block  up  against  thyself  the  way 

Of  fond,  familiar  memory  with  remorse. 

Thus  with  the  spirit  shalt  thou  always  live 

In  the  sweet,  ever  rich,  eternal  Now ! 

Not  like  the  traveller,  who  enjoys  no  sense 

Of  blooming  road,  or  greetings,  as  in  gloom 

He  hastens  to  his  mother's  fune/al ! 

But  thou  goest  homeward  to  thy  Father's  heart. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  59 

IX. 

Change  and  the  Unchangeable. 

On  all  things  Nature  lays  her  gentle  hand, — 

Gentle,  but  irresistible  ;   she  lays  it 

Upon  the  lovely  shaping  of  a  child 

As  on  the  rose-bud,  and  with  restless  toil 

Fills  out  and  ripens  both,  to  man  and  rose, 

So  that  thou  knowest  child  and  bud  no  more ! 

She  lays  it  on  the  night  and  on  the  sun, 

And  plucks  them  like  a  pansy  from  the  skies  ! 

She  lays  it  on  the  Autumn  and  the  Spring, 

On  every  year,  on  all  that  circled  man 

From  earliest  childhood,  and  grew  up  with  him ; 

She  lays  it  on  the  old  man,  his  silver  hair, 

She  lays  it  on  the  dead  in  earth's  dark  lap, 

And  turns  their  mouldering  skeletons  to  dust, — 

This  is  the  most  the  worst  can  do  to  us ! 

But  on  one  thing  Nature  lays  not  her  hand, 

She  lays  it  not  upon  our  heart's  desires, 

She  lays  it  not  upon  our  Spirit's  wealth  : 

On  freedom,  love,  and  truth,  and  its  fair  things, 

On  these  bold  man  alone,  begrudging  man, 

Lays  his  hard  hand  to  spoil  for  him  the  world. 

And  now  if  Nature  but  dissolves  our  bright 

Into  a  brighter,  if  she  takes  our  fair 

And  makes  it  into  something  still  more  fair,  — 

We  still  can  keep  our  fond  affection  true 

Ev'n  for  the  doll  that  with  great  wondering  eyes 

Out  of  our  childhood  looks  on  us,  as  if 

Astonished  at  our  stature.     How  much  more 

Shall  love  abide  with  us!     Ay,  love  for  all 


60  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

The  freedom,  beauty,  truth,  our  souls  have  seen. 
More  can  we  not  desire  from  the  best ! 
This  the  great  lesson  is,  for  man  to  learn. 


x. 

Be  Thoughtful  toward  thy  Kind. 

Think  often :    "  Who  may  be  enjoying  now 

The  good  I  did  him  once  ? "     And  though  't  were  only 

The  coat  thou  gav'st  a  beggar;    the  warm  room 

Where  now  in  winter  time  poor  children  sit; 

And  if  it  glads  thee,  —  then  do  good  again! 

Yet  think  too :    "  Who  perhaps  is  suffering  now 

The  ill  I  did  him  once?"  —  And  though  'twere  only 

The  stone  thou  took'st  not  from  the  blind  man's  path, 

The  angry  word  a  soft  heart  bore  from  thee ! 

And  if  that  grieves  thee,  —  then  do  good  again ! 


XI. 

Thoughts  at  Napoleon's  Grave. 

Friend  Buxton,  friend  of  mine  from  ancient  Rome, 

Who  sailed'st  to  far  St.  Helena,  there 

To  take  the  last  cast  of  Napoleon's  face, 

Thou  told'st  me,  when  the  pygmies  now  had  dug 

The  deep,  deep  grave  and  lowered  the  giant  down, 

With  a  deep  sigh  the  question  rose  from  thee ; 

"What  is  the  life  of  man, — the  greatest  man, 

Since  each  one  ends  in  dust  and  nothingness  ? " 

O  life  is  an  immeasurable  good, 

While  it  endures ;   life  is  a  deathless  thing, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  61 

A  holy,  beautiful,  abiding  here 
In  a  bright  mansion  of  reality. 
When  at  thy  side  I  therefore  asked  thee  rather: 
Say,  what  is,  after  all,  the  death  of  man  ? 
Or  what  is  Nature's  distant  future,  what 
The  future  of  each  child  of  hers  ?     That  too 
Is  surely  life,  a  glorious,  widening  life, 
Hidden,  it  well  may  be,  from  human  eyes, 
Yet  to  the  eyes  of  Nature  bright  and  plain. 
Because  man's  life  is  early  closed  with  death, 
Man's  life  is  therefore  not  contemptible ; 
That  only  death  could  be ;   yet  to  say  that 
Becomes  not  men,  —  for  that  they  do  not  know. 

XII. 

War,  in  God's  Hands. 

How  many  battles  now  are  but  a  word! 

Their  very  influences  all  extinct, 

Abolished  by  the  new  and  wider  word. 

What  were  they  but  a  wish,  even  then  while  yet 

They  thundered  loud,  —  two  wishes,  one  of  which 

The  Lord  accomplished,  only  turning  it 

To  higher  issues !     Then  fight  not  so  fiercely, 

Ye  heroes;  for  when  scarce   three  days  are  past, 

The  fight  ye  won  is  lost  again  —  to  God! 

And,  as  ye  spared  no  man,  none  now  spare  you. 

XIII. 

The  Exaltation  needed  for  Humility. 

The  mount  of  sacrifice  must  always  be 

The  mount  of  vision,  —  he  who  would  renounce, 


62  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Must  rise  to  the  great  realm  of  the  pure  Spirit, 
The  godlike,  the  immortal,  and  the  good. 
Who  would  not  readily  resign  his  will 
To  all  things  trivial  and  transitory, 
What  could  be  hard,  henceforth,  for  him  to  bear, 
Who  —  beareth  naught!     What  enemy  has  he, 
Whose  spirit  sees  all  things  contained  within 
The  deep  eye-socket  of  a  day  that  soon 
Is  quenched  forever,  shining  on  this  earth, 
WThich  he  contains  and  owns,  and  not  it  him  ? 
In  the  great  Nature  only  dwells  great  strength. 


XIV. 
Moral  of  the  Spring  Flowers. 

Innumerable  flowers  now  start  to  life 

That  slept  away  the  world  a  million  years. 

Lo,  every  violet  is  a   new  first  one, 

For  the  first  time  seen  in  the  magic  garden 

Of  the  fair  earth,  and  so  it  lives  there  new, 

And  for  its  sake  all  things  are  new  and  young: 

The  sun  is  only  just  hung  up  in  heaven, 

The  earth  is  only  just  spread  out  for  it ; 

And  not  a  bud,  nor  an  auricula, 

Has  heard  a  word  of  those  old  world-famed  kings, 

Of  the  long  laid-by  puppet-play,  —  of  Xerxes 

And  Artaxerxes,  Herod,  and  great  Cassar, 

Who  are  not  worth  four  daisies  at  this  hour. 

O  the  pure,  beauteous  life  these  flowers  do  lead ! 

The  bees,  too,  ever  humming  round  these  flowers! 

And  then  these  larks,  blissfully  ignorant 

Of  all  earth's  idle  gossip,  old  and  new, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  63 

And  yet  to  come,  that  sing  and  soar  in  bliss !  — 
Forgetting  human  discontent,  we  grow 
As  blest  as  are  the  violets,  bees,  and  larks  ; 
But  keeping  in  our  sight  and  in  our  breast 
Humanity's  fair  nature  and  bright  goal, — 
That  and  that  only  makes  man  like  to  God. 


XV. 
God's  Reflection  in  Man's  Face. 

How  lovely  seems  the  sun  to  us,  —  at  night, 
When  his  soft  light  dawns  on  us  from  the  moon ! 
'T  is  the  sun's  light  and  not  the  moon's,  although 
She  is  so  near,  and  he  has  dropped  from  sight 
Hast  thou  done  some  good  deed,  and  therefore  now 
A  human  face  smiles  on  thee  through  its  tears,  — 
Then  see  there,  too,  the  Godhead's  mediate  face 
Soft-beaming  as  the  solar-lunar  light! 


XVI. 
Who  has  God  has  all  Things. 

Wilt  thou  possess  on  earth  here  something  rare, 
Divine,  and  wondrous,  in  the  only  way 
Man  ever  can  possess  things,  then  conceive, 
Nay,  rather  see,  believe,  and  say  aloud : 
The  Universe  belongs  to  God ;   what  I 
Hold  in  my  hands,  directly  from  his  hands 
Have  I  received  it  all.     Say  to  thy  wife  : 
"The  Lord  hath  shaped  thee,  consecrated  thee 
To  me,  thou  dwell'st  with  me,  thou  lovest  me, 


64  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  I  love  thee,  while  yet  he  keeps  thee  mine." 

And  to  thy  child  say :    "  Dearest  child  of  mine, 

Thou  art  God's  child,  to  whom  the  eternal  heavens 

Above  there,  and  the  earth  below,  belong ; 

His  art  thou,  while  with  me  ;    for  I  myself 

Belong  to  Him,  even  as  thou   seest  and  lov'st 

Me  here  ;   before  I  saw  thee,  I  was  with  Him, 

And  with  Him  I  shall  be,  when  thou  one  day 

Seest  me  no  more!"  —  Thinking,  believing  thus, 

Then  honorest  thou  the  wife  within  thy  arms. 

Then  dost  thou  reverently  kiss  the  child 

There  in  his  cradle,  as  a  gift  divine, 

And  of  his  Father's  kingdom  teachest  him 

Gladly  as  if  he  were  an  angel.     But, 

If  death  should  snatch  him  from  thee,  calling  thee 

To  lay  him  in  the  lap  of  holy  earth, 

Then  hast  thou  faithfully  restored  a  jewel 

Committed  to  thy  hands  and  kept  by  thee 

To  its  true  owner,  who  would  owe  thee  thanks 

Had  he  not  made  it  a  delight  to  thee 

While  it  was  thine.     Then  shall  the  heart-felt  tears 

Thy  wife  and  children  one  day  shed  for  thee 

Be  holy,  tranquil  tears ;   because  in  thee 

They  had  a  heavenly  possession  which 

They  shared  with  their  true  Father  and  with  thine : 

God  only  can  forever  be  possessed, 

A  common  property  in  every  breast. 

XVII. 

Be  content  with  the  greatest  Good. 

Let  him  who  has  the  choicest  goods  of  life 
Not  yearn  to  add  to  them  the  lesser  ones ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  65 

In  large  and  in  the  whole  God  blesses  him ; 
And  if  the  sun  makes  light  for  him  the  day, 
Why  crave  the  light  of  every  little  torch  ? 


XVIII. 
Bribery  the  general  Vice. 

The  all-prevailing  vice  is  bribery, 

Bribery  of  sense,  opinion,  and  of  will : 

To  be  corrupted  is  the  common  lot. 

Poor  souls  are  daily  bribed  with  gold,  and  gold 

Is  given  by  rich  men  spiritually  poor ; 

Yet  't  is  not  gifts  alone  that  fetter  man, 

Gifts  which  the  high,  the  covetous,  and  shrewd 

Applies,  to  stamp  his  fellow-men  as  things, 

As  instruments  and  tools  of  his  base  ends;  — 

To  let  men  do  them  favors,  also  gains 

The  scheming,  the  ambitious,  and  the  low. 

Woman  is  bribed  by  beauty  oftentimes, 

Still  more  by  praise  of  her  own  beauty,  yea, 

By  favors  asked  of  her,  and  granted  by  her ; 

Which  he  who  cares  not  for,  is  her  worst  foe. 

The  sage  himself  is  dazzled  oftentimes 

By  recognition,  yea,  unconsciously, 

By  honor  done  him,  tempted  to  base  ways, 

Thinking  he  walks  the  true  and  proper  path. 

Good-nature  leads  the  good  man  far  astray, 

And  even  friendship  makes  the  friend  a  foe 

To  others.     Ay,  by  noblest  leading-strings 

The  sly,  corrupt,  rich  sinner  manages 

Fools  to  befool,  and  laughs  them  then  to  scorn, 

When  with  a  ready  will  they  zealously 


66  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Even  against  their  will  fulfil  his  ends. 

From  such  disgraceful  fraud  no  power  can  save 

The  lovely,  wise,  and  good,  but  a  true  spirit, 

Self-poised,  clear-eyed,  and  steady  in  its  aim : 

Resolved  to  have  no  dark  ways  in  thyself, 

Nor  yet  to  give  consent,  still  less  give  cause, 

That  deeds  of  darkness  shall  be  done  by  others  ;  — 

Serene  composure ;   free  from  all  false  zeal, 

Set  resolutely  against  mere  man's-work, 

Based  on  a  proper  and  profound  alliance 

With  God,  who  gives  thy  heart  and  spirit  light ;  — 

The  knowledge  and  conviction,  deep  and  clear, 

That  all  corruptors,  be  they  great  or  small, 

In  large  or  little  deal  perniciously 

And  meanly.     Be  thy  guard  a  steadfast  mind 

To  do,  in  all  things,  no  man's  word  or  will, 

Nor  ever  trust  him  whom  thou  hast  not  tried.* 

He  who  has  cheated  others,  certainly 

Will  cheat  thee  also,  when  it  serves  his  turn. 

—  So  shalt  thou  live  to  be  what  God  commands. 

O  wretched  creature,  —  a  corrupted  man  ! 

Most  miserable,  —  the  corrupted  world! 

XIX. 

Earth  the  old  Toy-House. 

How  many  tender  things  hast  thou  possessed 
In  childhood,  which  were  dear  to  thee;   in  part, 

*  This  will  do  as  a  prudential  maxim  :  but  Christian  wisdom  will  say : 
"  Better  trust  all,  and  be  deceived, 

And  mourn  that  trust,  and  that  deceiving, 
Than  doubt  one  heart,  which,  if  believed, 
Had  blessed  thy  heart  with  true  believing." 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  67 

Thou  hast  preserved  them,  partly  they  are  lost, — 
Scattered,  and  gone  to  be  laid  up  again 
In  the  old  treasure-house  of  human  children, 
The  earth  !     Lo,  many  generations  now 
Have,  each  in  turn,  given  back  to  earth  again 
Their  goods  and  chattels  all,  both  small  and  great, 
And  followed  after  them !     Does  then  thy  heart 
Hold  dear  the  little  storehouse  that  contains 
The  remnants  of  the  joys  of  happier  days,  — 
So  dear,  I  pray,  and  thousand  times  more  dear 
Be  earth  itself  to  thee !     And  look  on  it 
As  with  a  thousand  kindred  hearts  and  eyes ! 
Ah,  then,  how  homelike  will  it  be  to  thee  ! 
Like  to  thy  childhood's  nursery,  —  to  a  palace 
Transfigured,  —  yet  filled  only  with  thy  toys! 


XX. 

The  Claude  Glass  of  the  Spirit. 

Thy  spirit  only  makes  life  beautiful, 

Thou  must  create  it  that  which  it  can  be. 

In  Rome  thou  seest  the  stiff  tapestries 

To  Raphael's  Cartoons ;   in  Hampton  Court 

Thou  seest  the  still  more  hard  cartoons,  —  and  neither, 

As  only  what  they  are,  are  of  much  worth. 

"And  Raphael's  pictures  nowhere,  then,  exist? 

Nowhere  exists  the  beauty  they  might  be?" 

O  yes,  it  does !  but  where  ?     For  see,  now  comes 

A  connoisseur,  and  in  a  ....  looking-glass 

Sees  the  cartoon  clothed  in  such  magical 

And  tender  charm  as  picture  never  wore. — 

Make  thou  that  man  thy  master!     Think,  the  world, — 


68  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

* 

The  rough,  the  hard,  the  uncompleted  world, — 
That  even  the  world  is  worth  ten  thousand  times 
More  than  an  insignificant  cartoon. 
Well,  give  the  day,  the  earth,  thy  life,  thyself, 
The  worth  it  can  have,  in  the  landscape-glass 
Of  thine  own  spirit,  which  so  warms  and  glows ! 
Therein  the  very  storms,  as  pictures,  pass!* 


XXI. 

JVo  Impression  is  lost. 

"  We  know  so  much  as  we  are  conscious  of." 

Yet  whatsoe'er  has  ever  touched  our  hearts 

And  charmed  us,  though  it  now  seems  sunk  and  lost, 

All  that  shall  memory  one  day  give  us  back. 

For  not  a  deep,  not  an  abyss  alone, 

Is  this  our  soul !     The  sea,  too,  often  bears 

Its  flower-gardens  on  its  upper  waves, 

And  its  deep  bottom  thus  is   hid  from  sight 

Even  to  a  child,  that  then  for  the  first  time 

Plays  on  the  shore,  much  more  then  to  a  spirit 

That  trembling  waits  to  see  a  miracle 

Upon  the  strand  of  being's  mighty  sea! 

XXII. 
Diabolus  the  Doubter. 

Diabolus,  the  Devil,  is  the  doubter, 
The  caviller,  the  sceptic,  who  forever 

*  So  Jean  Paul's  moral  from  the  effect  of  an  eruption  of  Vesuvius,  as  seen 
reflected  in  the  Bay :  "I  said,  lo,  thus  the  muse  bears  in  her  eternal  mirror  the 
woes  of  humanity,  and  the  unhappy  look  into  it  and  smile  at  their  griefs."  —  T. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  69 

Has  doubts  of  being,  love,  and  of  the  good 

He  ought  to  do ;   who  in  his  dark  distrust 

Of  all  the  truth  that  stirs  within  his  heart, 

Would  fain  exempt  himself  from  virtue's  law, — 

From  action !  and  at  last  ends  in  despair. 

And  would'st  thou  know  who  is  the  angel,  now  ? 

He  who  believes  in  all  the  good  and  fair 

He  finds  in  others,  loves  to  find  it  there, 

Finds  love  in  God,  and  God's  love  everywhere, 

Throughout  the  Universe,  and  gladliest 

In  his  own  bosom ;    who  to  satisfy 

His  honor,  to  be  worthy  of  himself, 

So  lives,  as  if  God  always  looked  on  him ! 

That  man,  and  only  he,  who  lives  a  life 

Worthy  of  God,  lives  the  true  life  of  man. 


XXIII. 
Misery  of  the  Miser. 

The  miser  is  an  ingrate  too  ;   with  him 
It  is  hard  giving,  easy  taking,  —  both 
For  the  same  reason  ;   he  must  have,  none  else  ; 
Receiving  robs  him  both  of  speech  and  sense,  — 
That  which  another  has,  gives  him  no  joy, 
So  long  as  that  one  has  it;   and  when  once 
'T  is  his,  —  he  finds  no  longer  pleasure  in  it; 
Why  shall  he  then  give  thanks  for  agony! 
Flee  avarice,  then!     It  is  the  uncreator, 
The  polecat  of  all  good,  it  is  the  magpie 
That  grows,  with  lust  of  seeing,  old  and  gray. 
But  learn  thou  to  desire  as  ardently 
As  does  the  miser,  only  better  things. 


7o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Be  temperate,  like  him  bend  all  thy  strength 
On  one  thing,  —  goodness;   give  as  grudgingly 
An  evil  word  as  he  does  money;    learn 
From  him  economy !     Therein  he  's  rich  ! 
Spendthrifts  are  seldom  long-lived ;   habitude 
Lets  them  spend  days  as  lavishly  as  gold! 


XXIV. 
Blessing  of  Children, 

Children  are  matchless !     On  the  whole  round  earth 

Naught  can  be  distantly  compared  to  them  ; 

Without  her  children  earth  itself  were  naught, 

And  they  in  turn  were  nothing  without  theirs. 

The  virgin  hardly  dares  to  speak  aloud 

The  sweet  name  "  Child  !  "     She  blushes  ;    ecstasy 

Thrills,  trickles  ominously  through   her  veins  ! 

And  calmly  dies  the  old  man,  who  lays  his  hands 

On  precious  heads  and  says:    "Children,  farewell!" 

The  sweetheart  ceases  with  the  bridal  night, 

The  woman  ceases  with  the  child,  to  whom 

Her  name  is  Mother,  and  to  father  too. 

The  labors  all,  and  all  the  cares  of  life, 

Point  forward  to  a  future  race,  the  sons 

Of  fortune,  liberty,  and  blessedness. 

To  fashion  us  was  our  forefathers'  life  ; 

And  for  our  children  to  provide  is  now 

Our  life !     In  such  mysterious  bliss  the  sway 

Of  love  holds  on.     That  we  are  perishing, 

That  we  are  dwelling  in  a  house  of  death, 

This  we  forget,  it  half  becomes  a  lie 

Through  children,  who  still  live,  when  we  are  gone. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  71 

And  so  the  pelican  lays  bare  her  breast 

Suckling  her  children  with  her  own  heart's  blood. 

For  even  the  roe,  the  nightingale,  has  children, 

—  The  humming-bird  has  father  and  has  mother, — 

And  even  the  lion  loves  his  young  like  man. 

What  thousand-fold  and  noble  life  of  love 

Reigns  evermore  in  Nature  far  and  wide ! 

And  in  the  overflow  of  gladness  man 

Gives  children  to  his  very  God,  though  He 

Lives  without  wife  or  mother,  so  he  deems. 

For  none  more  blessed  than  a  child !     The  world 

To  him  is  nothing  else  than  Love  :    Love  smiles 

Upon  him  from  maternal  eyes;   the  Sun, 

The  Moon,  spring  's  coming,  and  the  autumn's  wane, 

Does  all  that  touch  him  ?     Scarce  he  sees  it  all ; 

The  world  all  rapture  is  to  him,  —  no  word 

Of  magic,  —  everywhere  so  dear,  so  clear  ! 

In  father's  and  in  mother's  soft  embrace, 

His  little  hand  in  sister's  curly  hair, 

All  things  are  his,  yea,  all;    and  more  than  all 

He  never  could  attain,  were  he  a  god. 

Could  e'er  a  youth  be  foolish,  or  a  maid 

Light-minded,  could  a  single  soul  be  sad, 

While  yet  in  solitude  he  walked  the  earth, 

If  it  were  only  given  him  to  see 

One  of  his  future  children !     Could  it  come 

Running  to  meet  him,  pluck  his  sleeve  and  say: 

"I  'm  here!     Shall  soon  be  thine!"     O  could  he  see 

What  bliss  awaits  him  in  life's  distant  paths 

He  would  endure,  and  seek  himself — the  mother! 

Could  a  man  ever  have  hard  thoughts,  who  thought 

Softly  of  children? — And  the  childless  man, 

He  the  true  poor  man  in  a  world  so  rich, 


72  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

An  outcast  from  the  care  of  God,  ....  from  life,  . 

And  from  the  world.  —  dreams  himself  near  the  end, 

Tormented  and  tormenting  in  return, 

Back  to  his  Father  thus  he  takes  his  way, 

A  solitary  child,  —  while  others  bring 

With  joy  to  Him  a  thousand  grandchildren  ? 


xxv. 

Respect  for  Woman  tests  Man. 

So  much  as  one  holds  woman  in  esteem, 
Purely  or  basely  as  he  deals  with  love, 
So  much  is  his  regard  for  honor,  or 
So  little  ;    such  the  honor  he  receives  ! 
Who  not  himself  respects,  honors  not  woman  ; 
Who  does  not  honor  woman,  knows  he  love  ? 
Who  knows  not  love,  can  he  know  honor  then  ? 
Who  knows  not  honor,  what  has  he  beside  ? 


XXVI. 

The  Mystery  of  Evil. 

Just  as  the  blazing  fire  at  last  burns  out, 
Every  misfortune  helps  consume  itself; 
As  every  little  coal,  that  still  might  harm, 
Betrays  itself  by  its  own  glow,  that  men 
May  quench  it,  so  the  least  distress  cries  out 
Like  the  marsh-waking  frog.     And  why  ere  now 
Has  not  all  trouble  long  been  rooted  out?  — 
Humanity  is  patient;    once  it  deemed 
Much  the  inevitable  lot  of  earth, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  73 

Which  was  but  bad  men's  burden.     Now  its  eyes 

Are  purged,  it  sees  distinctly,  and  has  hoped 

That  from  its  guardians,  help  would  come  at  last, 

And  still  it  waits,  —  restlessly,  angrily, 

And  girds  its  own  stout  loins  to  help  itself! 

Only  self-betterment,  self-help  alone, 

Has  worth,  and  God's  own  pledge  of  permanence. 


XXVII. 
The  Heart  a  Diamond. 

Like  to  a  diamond  is  the  heart  of  man, 

It  loves  to  fling  out  its  divinity 

Beyond  itself,  and  hang  it  now  on  this 

And  now  on  that  external  object,  pleased 

To  see  its  beams  in  outward  hues  alone, 

And  every  charm  the  real  world  contains 

It  sees  transfigured  in  the  ideal  light. 

And  thou,  do  thou  no  canvas  give  to  man ; 

He  '11  paint  it  full !  and  though  the  picture  's  his 

And  his  own  picture, — still  it  is  his  dream! 

Faith  must  not  think  to  do  what  Love  may  do: 

Transform  itself  and  in  its  image  live  ; 

Confound  not  then  together  Faith  and  Love  ! 

Self-consciousness  alone  is  the  true  light. 

Believe  in  God,  in  Him  alone  as  God, 

Believe  in  all  beside  Him  as  divine, 

Man,  in  thyself  believe  too,  and  all  men, 

And  in  the  light,  —  that  in  all  diamonds  dwells  ! 


74  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXVIII. 
The  noble  Dead  still  live. 

The  noble  dead  still  live,  —  forever  near! 
The  nearest  neighbor,  whom  thou  seest  not,  is 
A  ghost  to  thee,  and  only  so  can  work. 
When  thou  dost  need  good  counsel,  which  just  now 
No  friend  can  give  thee,  turn  thyself  to  them, 
The  mighty  dead,  who  still  through  all  the  world 
A  universal  presence,  live  and  move, 
Who  even  within  thee  faithful  wait  thy  word, — 
And  in  lone  quiet  listening,  ask  aloud : 
"What  dost  thou  counsel  me,  Saint  Paul?"   or,  "What 
Dost  thou  advise,  Saint  John  ?  "     And  thou  wilt  then 
Hear  voices  speak  in  thee  in  ancient  wise; 
And  Socrates  shall  join  their  council,  too, 
With  Epictetus  and  Mark  Antonine : 
And  in  the  sense  in  which  they  sometimes  wrote, 
And  with  the  wisdom  wherewith  once  they  spake, 
So  shall  they  now  still  speak  out  of  thy  mouth 
As  from  the  dusky-glimmering  evening  hall 
Of  dream,  or  in  the  hushed  and  listening  porch ; 
They  even  shall  fall  into  a  friendly  strife, 
For  from  the  strife  of  wise  men  Truth  comes  forth  ; 
Then  shalt  thou  hear  and  know  what  thou  hast  sought ! 
Grateful  shall  press  the  hands  of  the  world's  friends,  — 
And  truly,  if  thou  dost  what  they  advise, 
That  shall   be  well-advised,  and  prosperous  which   thou 
dost.* 

*  "  Und  wahrlich,  wenn  du  thust  was  sie  gerathen, 
Wird  gliicklich  dir  gerathen,  was  du  thust." 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  75 

XXIX. 

Man  needs  all  Things. 

Accept  not  fraud  for  truth,  nor  foolishness 

For  wisdom!     Never  be  content,  O  man, 

While  and  wherever  thou  yet  lack'st  one  thing. 

Step  freely,  boldly  out  and  claim  all  good. 

Thy  life  on  earth,  —  that  also  is  a  Spring, 

Which  for  its  making  needs  its  flowers,  its  warmth, 

And  all  the  new-born  beauty  of  the  earth ; 

What  comes  to  thee  of  human  good,  alone 

Makes  thee  a  man ;    what  thou  attainest  not, 

Thou  wantest ;   what  thou  losest  robbeth  thee 

As  man,  and  thou  canst  be  a  man  but  once, 

And  only  here.     Man  must  have  many  things 

All  his  life  long,*  the  sky,  the  sun,  the  moon, 

The  stars,  the  earth,  humanity,  the  grace 

Of  changing  seasons,  a  pure,  open  sense 

For  all  of  beautiful  life  has  to  give. 

Much  must  have  passed  away  from  him,  before 

He  starts  at  seeing  the  tracks  of  endless  life ; 

The  majesty  of  the  once  present  spirit 

That  lived  a  thousand-fold,  rich,  heavenly  life, 

And  left  him  but  the  golden  nursery ; 

Father  and  mother,  —  only  a  short  way 

Must  they  attend  him,  teaching  him  to  live. 

Only  old  parents  must  he  bury  then  ; 

The  beauteous  maiden  must  not  till  the  close 

Of  his  full  dream  of  youth  to  meet  him  come 

As  woman,  and  then  journey  on  with  him 

*  "Man  wants  but  little  here  below 
Nor  wants  that  little  long." 


76  THE  LAYMAN* S  BREVIARY. 

Along  the  road  of  life  to  man's  last  goal. 

His  children,  coming  late,  must  after  him 

Live  just  so  long  as  he  himself  had  lived 

Before  they  came  (sweet  guests)  to  glad  his  heart. 

No  parent  ever  should  outlive  his  child; 

That  is  the  pure  course  of  a  rightful  life. 

And  he  must  leave  behind  him  everything, 

To  teach  that  naught  was  his,  except  his  soul. 

But  if  now  the  companion  of  his  days 

He  has  to  follow  to  an  early  grave,  — 

If,  some  still  morning,  comes  a  man  and  bears 

His  child  away,  pale  in  the  sunny  gold, 

Across  the  silent   earth,  to  bury  it, — 

Ay,  then  is  the  poor  man  bereaved  indeed 

Forevermore  ;    from  him  is  snatched  away 

That  which  of  human  man,  as  human,  craves  ; 

And  no  eternal,  no  immortal  life, 

Will  once,  or  can,  make  good  to  him  what  now, 

As  man,  he  on  this  earth  has  sadly  lost 

And  sorely  misses.     Ah !     Another  wife, 

Another  child,  cannot  replace  the  dead, 

No,  never ;  they  are  new  and  strange !     His  heart 

Essays  in  vain  to  take  them  for  the  old. 

There  is  on  earth  misfortune,   there  is  loss  ; 

Through  our  own  faults  and  our  own  ignorance 

Through  faults  and  ignorance  of  other  men,  — 

Therefore  so  long,  only  so  long,  as  man 

Knows  not,  nor  carefully  obeys  his  law, 

The  universe's  law,  and  no  day  more ! 

To  teach  the  art  of  life  is  wisdom's  work, 

To  exercise  that  art  is  learning's  goal, — 

Unhappiness  is  but  a  long  "  meanwhile." 

Yet  to  hold  fast  lost  treasures  in  the  soul 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  77 

Through  love,  through  memory,  (which  not  in  vain 

Nor  yet  in  mockery  by  God  was  given,) 

By  strong  affection  to  anticipate 

The  human  good  yet  unattained,  to  make 

The  future  present,  to  converse  with  it 

As  with  a  living  thing,  this  man  can  do, 

This  man  should  do,  who  lives  but  once  on  earth. 

Then  be  thou  wise  to  win !   strong  to  possess ! 

Brave  to  defend!   and  provident  to  keep! 

Who  lets  bad  pass  for.  good,  —  he  is  a  faint-heart; 

Who  lets  wrong  pass  for  right,  —  he  is  a  blockhead; 

Who  lets  that  go  which  only  seems  to  go, 

Who  draws  not  that  which  comes  not,  is  a  child, 

Who  flings  his  mother's  pearls  into  the  sea, 

Whence  they  arose,  but  where  they  're  his  no  more. 


XXX. 

Thy  Foes. 

Hast  thou  arrived  so  far  as  to  have  foes  ? 

I  praise  thee,  then,  for  all  are  not  yet  good. 

Though  thou  conceal  it,  yet  be  not  ashamed 

That  thou  hast  foes,  —  for  he  who  cannot  bear 

To  have  a  foe,  deserveth  not  a  friend. 

They  must  be  foes  to  thee,  who  fear  the  truth  ; 

They  must  be  foes  to  thee,  who  twist  the  right ; 

They  must  be  foes  to  thee,  who  swerve  from  honor ; 

They  must  be  foes  to  thee,  who  have  no  friends 

But  only  felons  of  their  lawless  lust ; 

They  must  be  foes  to  thee,  who  have  no  foes, 

Because,  —  to  insure  like  pardon  for  itself, 

The  world  too  lightly  pardons.     They  must  be 


78  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thy  foes,  whose  friend  thou  art  not.     Strongly  bear 
The  hatred  of  the  bad !     'T  is  weak  and  vain. 
And  if  thou  standest  like  a  pure,  warm  beam 
Of  heavenly  fire,  then  shalt  thou  warm  and  cheer 
The  good,  and  they  shall  link  themselves  to  thee. 
Meanwhile  be  thou  thy  foeman's  truest  friend, 
And  cease  not  from  him  with  the  faithful  word, 
With  looks,  example,  e'en  with  silence,  long 
Forbearance,  though  a  sore  reproach  to  thee ! 
He  gains  the  highest  praise  of  goodness,  who 
Knows  how  to  win  the  fool  to  what  is  good. 
And  lo  !    the  unhappy  one  has,  pleading,  for  him, 
His  father  and  his  mother,  from  the  grave ! 
His  loves  all  plead  for  him,  —  his  children  too, — 
His  own  shy  glances  intercede  for  him, — 
A  God  pleads  with  thee  for  him  in  thy  breast: 
"Desist  not  from  thy  brother,  O  my  child!" 


XXXI. 

The  Hall  of  Spring. 

A  mighty  Hall  of  wonders  opens  now,  — 

The  Hall  of  Spring !     So  great  that  sea  and  islands, 

The  magic  lawns  of  Hindostan,  the  gardens 

Of  Alcinoiis,  Circe's  promontory, 

The  hills  of  Troja,  and  thy  fatherland, 

Like  little  children's  gardens  lie  therein, — 

So  old  that  Abel  well  would  know  the  sight; 

So  new  that  ev'n  the  silver-haired  old  man 

Gazes  upon  it  with  astonishment, 

Who  eighty  times  has  wandered  through  its  pomp; 

So  warm  that  Bathsheba  once  more  might  long 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  79 

To  bathe  herself  amid  its  fragrances  ; 

So  rich  that  Solomon  might  long  to  see 

The  vine  put  on  its  buds,*  the  fig  its  leaves : 

So  light  arid  clear  the  hall,  that  high  o'erhead 

The  lark  herself  sees  the  gray  lark  below 

Who  broods  far  under  her  cloud-piercing  song 

In  the  green  cornfields,  on  her  silent  nest; 

So  early  closed,  the  very  hyacinth 

Hastens  to  bloom  and  then  to  fade  away ; 

That  every  wave  flows  on  unceasingly 

As  if  it  had  no  time  for  one  small  word ! 

So  fair,  that  even  Homer's  old  blind  eyes 

Might  once  more  weep  at  it!  —  And  ah!   so  sweet! 

The  dead  old  Priamus  and  Helena, 

Carolus  Magnus  and  Napoleon, 

Would  gladly  in  their  narrow  sepulchres 

Have  but  one  little  window  to  look  out 

And  take  one  rapturous  glance  at  the  blue  heaven, 

Or  large  enough  to  lay  the  ear  to  it, 

And  listen  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour 

To  all  the  hum  of  bees  and  song  of  birds, 

To  weep,  and  after  a  long  sleep,  refreshed, 

Lay  themselves  down  again  to  a  long  sleep, 

The  deep  sleep  of  the  dead !     But  thou,  thou  liv'st 

The  sweet  life  of  the  living  on  the  earth, 

In  this  workshop  of  delicate  wonder-works, 

In  which  no  hammer  ever  rang,f  no  brush, 

Or  eyes.  —  SOLOMON'S  SONG  vii.  12. 

t  "No  workman  steel,  —  no  ponderous  axes  rung, 

Like  some  tall  palm,  the  noiseless  fabric  sprung." 

HEBER'S  PALESTINE. 

"There  was  neither  hammer,  nor  axe,  nor  any  tool  of  iron  heard  in  the  house 
while  it  was  building. "  —  i  KINGS  vi.  7. 


8o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

No  pot  of  colors,  purple,  green,  and  blue, 

Was  left  behind,  —  no  visible  Master  wrought, — 

And  yet  all  stands  complete,  —  O  wonderful ! 

Clouds  fly  away,  that  poured  their  water  out! 

Waters  glide  by,  that  made  the  meadows  green ! 

And    winds    are    lulled,     when    they    have    brought    the 

clouds ! 

And  smiling  still,  as  if  he  had  done  naught 
Stands  the  bright  Sun  in  heaven,  yet  visible 
To  mortal  men  !     But  He  who  does  it  all, 
The  Master,  never  once  is  visible, — 
He  smiles  not  once  Himself,  —  Spring  is  His  smile! 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

APRIL. 


APRIL. 


I.  Spring  :    Birth,  Death,  Immortality. 

II.  The  Mind  is  its  own  Place. 

III.  One  Generation  cometh,  and  another  goeth. 

IV.  Hopes  are  Treasures. 

V.  Hope,  Man's  only  fast  Friend. 

VI.  We  are  Members,  one  of  another. 

VII.  Losing  all  and  finding  all  in  Christ. 

VIII.  Honor  all  Men. 

IX.  Man's  Criticism  of  God's  Word  and  Ways. 

X.  Reverence  the  Child. 

XI.  No  Man  liveth  by,  or  for  Himself. 

XII.  Worth  of  great  Souls  to  Humanity. 

XIII.  Expectation  is  Possession. 

XIV.  Spirits  and  Bodies. 
XV.  How  to  know  Nature. 

XVI.  All  Creatures  dear  to  God. 

XVII.  Why  does  the  new  Bride  weep  ? 

XVIII.  The  Virgin  coming  from  the  Churchyard. 

XIX.  The  Child  in  his  Paradise. 

XX.  Honor  the  homeliest  Callings. 

XXI.  Humanity  made  God  in  Christ. 

XXII.  Stealing. 

XXIII.  The  Greatness  of  Man. 

XXIV.  Rest. 

XXV.  Man  the  Child  of  his  Time. 

XXVI.  The  Mother  at  her  Child's  Burial. 

XXVII.  Honor  thy  Father  ! 

XXVIII.  Happiness  that  survives  Youth. 

XXIX.  What  produces  its  like  is  Mortal. 

XXX.  The  Auricula's  Children  and  Ours. 


APRIL, 
i. 

Spring:  Birth,  Death,  Immortality. 

!OW  Earth  grows  green  again.  What  is  to  live 
Comes  on  with  still,  resistless,  ceaseless  pace  ; 
Crowds  into  being ;  flowers  themselves  spring 

up 
Sooner  than  grass ;    the  blossoms  from  the 

twigs 

Burst  forth  into  the  light  before  the  leaves, 
Only  a  little  earlier  to  exist: 
And  even  the  smallest  spot  is  thick  beset. 
The  dear  deluded  ones,  they  all  are  there ! 
And  nothing  now  seems  wanting  that  the  earth 
Ever  possessed.     It  seems  so,  —  but  in  truth 
All  that  she  e'er  possessed  is  wanting.     Naught 
Of  what  has  been  comes  back,  or  will  come  back 
Though  'we  should  live  forever.     All  is  new, 
That  is,  —  all,  all ;    even  the  very  blade 
'Of  grass,  and  every  little  breath  of  air 
That  sails  down  from  new  clouds  to  play  with  it. 
The  poorest  of  all  mothers,  is  the  Earth  ! 
And  if  she  had  a  heart,  —  'twere  long  since  broke; 
And  had  she  many  thousand  eyes,  —  they  all 
Had  long  since  been  wept  dry,  ....  but  ah,  her  children 
Have  done  her  weeping  for  her  faithfully! 


84  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

We  gaze  admiring  on  all  Earth's  old  days, 

Full  of  unique  and  beauteous  shapings,  full 

Of  countless  products  of  her  workmanship, 

Forms,  to  destroy  a  single  one  of  which 

In  man  were  a  scarce  expiable  crime. 

And  Nature,  —  takes  them  all  and  melts  them  over, 

On  earth  she  does  it,  and  on  every  star. 

Each  human  artist  who,  with  painful  care 

Has  wrought  out  works  of  beauty  from  his  soul, 

Preserves  them,  too,  or  if  he  lets  them  go 

Into  strange  hands,  men's  reverence  cares  for  them. 

Nature  retains  alone  the  primal  thoughts, 

The  die  of  man  and  animal  and  plant ; 

And  every  year,  as  with  Mahomet's  seal 

Only  enough  to  grace  her  hall  that  year 

She  prints,  of  all  the  lovely  forms,  in  clay. 

But  we  are  Nature's  thinking  thought,  and  sigh, 

"  O  were  there  but  some  mighty  hall,  wherein 

Nature  might  keep,  collected  after  years, 

All  things  her  cunning  hand  had  e'er  produced  !  " 

But  such  a  vast,  immeasurable  space 

Seems  wanting  ev'n  to  her,  —  seems?   nay,  it  is, — 

And  spirits  to  be  there  as  lookers-on ; 

For  the  exacting  present,  crowded  full, 

Demands  of  her,  as  for  a  giant's  fight, 

All  the  old  fires  of  kindled  energies 

And  all  the  spirits,  to  stand  by  her  now. 

History  alone  still  teaches  withered  names, 

And  artists  shaped  thereby  their  single  works 

In  marble  or  in  tints,  and  mournfully 

Memory  saluteth  them  as  sunken  gods.* 

*  Keats. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  85 

When  once  the  world  had  reached  that  fair  success, 

Nothing  remained  but  to  destroy  it  now ; 

And  holy  sorrow  is  the  highest  life, 

For  it  keeps  bright  all  that  was  ever  blest. 


II. 

The  Mind  is  its  mvn  Place. 

"In  the  green  cornfield  have  I  built  my  house, 
And  now  I  roam  about,  —  how  sweet  it  seems!  — 
From  room  to  room,  deep  in  high  rustling  crops, 
And  like  the  young  of  quails  my  children  sleep 
Curtained  with  crops ! "     The  man  before  whose  soul 
Are  hovering  evil  works  which  he  hath  wrought, 
May  walk  in  palaces,  yet  walks  on  thorns; 
At  noon  he  walks  in  midnight;   and  with  dread 
He  goes  to  drive  the  —  serpent  from  his  child. 


in. 

One  Generation  cometh,  and  another  goeth. 

Thousands  of  peoples  of  the  race  of  man, 

Pass  through  the  Earth's  vast  house,  each  by  itself, 

Like  nations  migrating  from  land  to  land. 

Singly  they  come,  and  tarry  all  alone, 

Unspeakably  alone,  here  on  the  earth. 

Only  their  fathers  do  they  find  here  still 

Of  all  their  never-seen  progenitors, 

Only  their  children  do  they  stay  to  see 

Of  all,  all  those  that  shall  come  after  them  ; 

And  just  as  if  Earth  scarcely  bore  ev'n  them, 


86  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

So  do  they  hover,  and  live  hovering  on, 

Like  white  clouds,  folded  in  the  fields  of  heaven 

By  thousands,  which,  but  just  snatched  forth  from  night, 

Now  find  themselves  at  dawn  together  here, 

And  then  blown  off  again  by  a  light  breath, 

Like  lambs  without  a  shepherd,  steal  away 

In  silence !     'T  is  the  old,  great  woe  of  man ! 

And  the  sore  grief  of  burying  in  the  ground 

A  child,  a  wife,  would  wear  a  milder  look, 

Did  not  the  grave  open  to  view  that  hole 

Full  of  unknown,  unknown  yet  precious  dead, 

As  near  akin  to  us,  as  eye  to  eye 

....  Of  one-eyed  men.     Meanwhile  the  earth  beguiles 

Our  sorrow  with  her  even  pace  ;    the  sun 

Charms  it  away  with  his  still,  even  face  ; 

And  in  the  throng  of  fellow-solitaries, 

This  populous  loneliness,  none  deems  him  lost ; 

The  little  legacy  of  old  men  dead, 

Each  takes,  rejoicing  in  his  share  of  life, 

Reads  the  report  they  have  drawn  up  for  him ; 

And  what  of  good  he  thinks,  in  turn,  to  leave 

His  grandsons,  he  writes  down  upon  the  wall, 

Or  lays  it  on  the  table,  confident 

That  they  will  surely  find  it,  when  they  come. 

So  light,  yet  sure,  the  bond  that  binds  the  world! 


IV. 

Hopes  are  Treasures. 

Heart !   learn  to  hope  !     The  lesson  easier  grows. 

What  thou,  as  child,  did'st  hope  fair  years  ago, 

That  know'st  thou  still;    full  well  now  see'st  thou  this. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY,  87 

By  how  them  livest,  what  them  hast  become, 

And  what  the  world  around  thee,  thou  canst  see 

How  much  more  wisely  thou  would'st  hope  all  that, 

With  how  much  more,  ay,  even  a  seer's  success! 

What  thou  hast  hoped  within  a  year,  a  month, 

As  from  the  full  and  blossom-laden  tree, 

Likewise  what  fruits  have  ripened  and  what  not, 

That  know'st  thou  now;  —  and  what  shall  by  and  by 

Ripen  at  last,  that  canst  thou,  by  the  signs 

Of  heaven  and  earth,  thine  own  life  and  mankind's, 

Almost  foreknow.     Auspicious  for  our  works 

Is  it:    to  hope  only  what  comes  to  pass. 

Then,  —  is  it  small,  'tis  all  was  possible; 

Or  much,  —  still  it  can  never  be  enough 

For  all  thy  wishes  in  all  times  and  moods. 

This  one  thing,  then,  I  counsel  thee  hold  fast : 

Throw  not  away  from  thee  the  fallen  buds, 

As  good  for  nothing  more !     How  graced  they  once 

That  which  is  passed  away !  —  Whoso  can  keep 

All  he  e'er  hoped,  though  it  was  ne'er  fulfilled, 

He  only  knows  the  worth  of  inward  life  ; 

The  purest  wealth  of  fantasy  and  heart 

Is  his  unceasing  income,  —  and  he  spends 

No  particle  thereof  on  the  worst  fate.* 

v. 

Hope,  Man's  only  fast  Friend. 

Hope's  tender  creatures  are  more  true  to  thee 
Than  lovely  maidens.     Yea,  they  are  thy  daughters! 

*  "  Bid  him,"  is  the  language  of  Posa,  in  Schiller's  Don  Carlos,  "when  he 
is  a  man,  reverence  the  dreams  of  his  youth." 


88  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

They  weep  with  thee,  they  smile  when  thou  dost  smile, 

They  grow  up  with  thee,  they  outstrip  thy  growth. 

Only,  when  comes  the  day  of  serious  choice, 

Day  of  wife-hunting,  time  for  wedding  them 

To  life's  rough  forms,  when  the  unlovely  offspring 

Of  hard  reality  step  in  their  place,  — 

Ah  yes,  they  '11  fain  supplant  them  in  thine  eyes,  — 

Before  this  poor  fulfilment  sought  by  thee 

Their  cheek  grows  pale ;   they  vanish  for  a  day ; 

Perhaps  a  night  ....  but  then  they  come  again, — 

Like  golden  moonlight  to  thy  silent  room 

And  peer  ....  and  blush  with  pleasure  when  they  see 

That  Earth  has  not  quite  stolen  thy  heart  from  them  ; 

That  thou,  possessing,  art  not  wholly  blest, 

And  lost  to  them  forever.     So  they  stand, 

With  wet  eyelashes,  drooping  modestly; 

But  as  thou  stretchest  out  a  hand  to  them, 

Lo,  joyfully  they  all  spread  wide  their  arms 

To  clasp  thee,  and  they  all  lie  down  once  more 

In  bliss  upon  the  blest  paternal  heart; 

And  now  thou  'It  no  more  cast  thy  daughters  off, 

Who,  free,  unwedded,  never  growing  old, 

Stay  by  thee  till  thy  still  old  age  creeps  on, 

Plant  flowers  e'en  now  in  secret  round  thy  grave, 

And  smiling,  die  with  thee,  when  thou  dost  smile 

The  last  faint  smile,  that  sees  the  dawn  of  Heaven! 


VI. 

We  are  Members  one  of  another. 

Indifferent  one,  thou  carest  for  nothing,  save 
Thy  own  affairs  ?     Thy  house  and  wife  and  child  ? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  89 

Scarcely  has  man  a  property  whereon 
Some  strange  hand  has  not  an  invisible  lien. 
Thou  art  thyself  the  world's  ;    in  thine  own  house 
Thou  dwellest,  —  in  the  land,  on  earth,  at  large ; 
Who  has  the  land,  he  has  thy  children  too, 
And  he  who  has  mankind  has  also  thee. 
Then  care  thou  for  thy  country  and  mankind. 
Take  part  with  voice  and  hand  in  what  is  near, 
Take  part,  with  heart  and  thought,  in  distant  good, 
What  noble  minds  are  doing,  even  for  thee. 
Let  nothing  die,  —  else  thou  diest  with  it  too; 
Let  none  be  made  a  slave,  else  thou  art  one ; 
Let  none  be  bad,  else  he  corrupteth  thee  ; 
And  if  all  think  as  thou,  then  can  henceforth 
The  bad  man  trouble  none,  not  even  thee. 
And  when  mankind  can  freely  do  the  right, 
Then  every  gift  divine  redounds  to  thee 
And  to  thy  children's  children,  for  whate'er 
Thy  spirit  gains  is  gained  forevermore. 


VII. 

Losing  all  and  finding  all  in  Christ. 

"What  did  I  wish  to  find  in  yonder  world? 

Hardly  myself;    not  for  the  sake  of  self, — 

Who  sleeps,  sleeps  off.     All  that  I  wished  was  Christ, 

And  next  my  mother  and  my  father,  ah, 

And  then  my  children,  and  my  wife  for  them; 

Then  were  I  blest  in  having  all  I  love, 

That  fondly  love  me,  joined  in  endless  peace. 

That  were  my  Heaven  ! "  —  This  is  what  each  one  says ; 

Each  wishes  only,  there  as  here,  his  own; 


9o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Of  his  grandchildren,  of  his  father's  father, 

Of  his  whole  race  the  wish  of  no  one  thinks. 

But  as  each  one  does  truly  wish  his  own, 

Each  child  to  have  his  parents  back  again, 

And  as  all  parents  wish  their  children  back, 

Man's  wish  runs  up  to  the  primeval  world, 

And  snatches  all  the  sleepers  from  their  graves, 

His  wish  runs  downward  to  the  afterworld, 

Summoning  all  unborn  dear  ones  to  his  heaven  ; 

Love's  yearning  makes  the  whole  wide  world  alive, 

Ranging  it  round  the  Father  in  his  Heaven. 

And  He  alone,  this  most  all-loving  Father, 

Shall  thrust  all  back  to  the  abyss  again  ? 

He  who  himself  in  all  his  children  lives, 

Shall   curse    Himself,  ....  the  puppets  ....  and  the 

shrine  ? 

And  grimly  say  to  himself  the  horrid  words : 
"  I  let  myself  be  slain  upon  the  cross, 
Exposed  on  the  Eternal  pillory, 
And  millions  pass  along  and  wag  their  heads 
And  curse  me,  saying :....'  Thou  ....!  None  of  us  all 
Shall  see  one,  one  loved  face  again  forever! 
Nor  Thou !     Nor  Thee  !     But  we  have  power  to  die,  — 
Thou  not !     The  holiest  passion  of  the  heart, 
Love,  —  was  our  torment  only,  and  our  shame  ! 
No  devil  can  of  a  devil  believe  the  like  ! ' " 
And  yet,  perhaps,  't  is  true  !     'T  is  surely  so, 
If  each,  instead  of  the  mere  earthly  form,  .... 
Instead  of  even  Christ's  mere  earthly  form, 
Shall  find  the  very  Father,  and  in  Him 
Meet  all  his  loved  ones  and  himself  again, 
And  God  could  not  of  God  hold  fairer  faith. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  91 


VIII. 

Honor  all  Men. 

Before  a  Lily,  that  could  talk  to  thee, 

Profoundest  reverence  would  fill  thy  breast. 

A  Beaver,  that  had  built  up  all  the  works 

That  make  man  proud,  would  justly  be  to  thee 

Exceeding  wonderful ;   an  Elephant, 

—  The   great,   wise  Mouse    that  through   the   palm-wood 

creeps,  — 

Should  he  speak  to  thee  as  a  friend,  and  show 
Kindness  to  thee,  and  thoughtful,  timely  help, 
And  be  thy  servant,  and  support  himself, 
How  would'st  thou  prize  him !     And  a  herd  of  such  ! 
And  yet  before  a  man,  good,  glorious  man, 
His  bosom  full  of  all  the  gifts  of  Heaven, 
Glowing  with  love  for  thee, — before  his  child 
That  plays  alone,  content  in  grass  and  flowers, 
Could'st  thou  pass  by  indifferently,  and  not 
Reach  out  a  hand  to  him  ?     Not  cast  on  him 
One  friendly  glance  ?     Only  contemplate  men 
As  some  rich-gifted,  blooming  growth  of  Earth, 
And  thou  wilt  feel  thy  breast  at  once  enriched 
With  a  great  reverence,  a  still  blessedness, 
Till  thou  behold'st  in  man  the  heavenly  one, 
The  Son  of  God,  the  godly  one,  and  then 
For  the  first  time  true  love  will  fill  thy  soul. 
I  claim  the  inspiration  and  the  love 
Which  has  been  offered  to  a  Holy  Child, 
Loudly  and  boldly  for  each  child  of  man  ! 
When  each  is  once  revered  as  God's  own  child, 
And  loved  with  inspiration  limnglyj 


92 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


When  each  thinks,  feels,  and  lives,  as  God  in  him 

With  mighty  agonizing  yearns  to  live, 

Then  only  shall  begin  at  length  on  earth 

The  "  Kingdom  of  the  Father,"  then  shall  God 

Live  everywhere,  distinctly,  gloriously, 

Then  God  comes  down  to  dwell  within  your  heart! 

Yea,  in  your  eyes !  and  in  your  very  hands ! 

Just  as  you  honor  man,  he  lives  to  you  : 

—  Look  only  at  the  King  upon  his  throne, — 

And  God  lives  to  you,  as  you  honor  Him. 


IX. 

Man's  Criticism  of  God's  World  and  Ways. 

We  human  beings  have  a  natural  right 

To  pass  a  judgment  upon  all  the  world, 

Death,  Life,  Joys,  Sorrows,  even  man  himself; 

For  we,  we  must  be  men  and  bear  perforce 

All  that  to  be  a  man  brings  in  its  train. 

A  master  builds  a  house.,  and  when  't  is  done, 

He  goes  his  way !  —  But  we  abide  therein  ! 

A  cook  does  naught  but  cook,  —  the  guests  must  eat! 

A  lord  sends  out  his  servant  through  strange  lands, — 

Across  the  sea,  —  the  servant  learns  the  roads! 

Whether  the  coffin  was  not  somewhat  close, 

Haply  the  dead  man  best  could  answer  that. 

With  all  the  unexhausted  means  at  hand 

Can  the  whole  race  of  man  insure  itself, 

Thousands  and  thousands  of  things  truly  good  ? 

And  when  he  has  dealt  honestly  with  all, 

Himself  and  others,  when  by  practice  long 

He  learns  to  do  this  understandingly,  — 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


93 


To  know  the  world,  the  house,  wherein  he  dwells, — 
Even  as  the  butterfly  shut  up  in  some 
Divine  Rotunda,  will  no  more  go  out, — 
When  he  has  searched  and  seen  through  frame  and  plan, 
And  master's  mind,  —  then  let  him  haste  to  judge! 
But  in  the  land  you  know  full  soon,  ....  the  Master, 
The   way,  ....  the   means,  ....  the   very  cook,  .  .  .  . 
and  coffin. 


Reverence  the  Child. 

The  child  is  of  God's  nature.     Coming  forth 

From  primal  being,  in  his  soul  he  brings 

Knowledge  and  recognition  of  the  things 

Of  God  to  earth  with  him.     The  highest  things 

And  holiest  he  most  readily  conceives, 

Finds  time  and  opportunity  on  earth 

To  feel  himself  pent  up  and  weak  and  small! 

Honor  him  early !     Treat  him  as  an  angel ! 

If  he  should  trample  one  of  his  fair  flowers, 

Punish  him  (as  one  does  a  child)  for  murder  ; 

If  he  has  let  a  rose-bush  die  of  thirst, 

Poor  mother  of  full  many  a  poor  child,  — 

Refuse  to  him  the  cup  of  clear,  cold  water ; 

Has  he  disturbed  the  nest  of  the  young  birds, 

Let  him  sleep  hungry  on  the  hard,  bare  ground, 

No  mother,  father,  brother,   sister,  near. 

And  if  thy  child  thus  early  has  atoned, 

With  such  divine  severity,  for  slight 

Yet  dangerous  missteps  from  right  and  truth, 

Then  shall  he  leave  one  day  the  grove  of  youth 

With  holy  sense  of  this  most  beauteous  world, 


94  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

And  dwell  unfallen  in  a  Paradise 
Even  here  on  earth  ;   and  all  the  heavy  faults 
By  which  men  forfeit  the  true  joy  of  man 
Thou  thus  hast  spared  him,  broken  in  the  bud  ; 
For  he  who  spares  the  dew-drop  on  the  grass 
Will  never  wring  out  tears  from  human  eyes  ; 
Fancy  keeps  watch  o'er  purity  of  heart. 
O  count  it  not  as  play,  this  early,  sure 
Correction  of  the  tender,  trustful  child ! 
To  look  upon  the  tender,  lovely  world 
With  love,  to  feel  it  tenderly,  —  is  bliss, — 
And  bliss  within  the  heart  prevents  all  woe. 


XI. 

No  Man  liveth  by,  or  for  Himself. 

Each  one  man's  glory  is  humanity's, 
If  only  that  all  comes  to  him  from  men 
Of  old  times  and  his  own,  to  win  him  to  them. 
Their  very  future  gives  him  heart  to  work, 
Not  his  ;   and  all  the  human  myriads  are 
The  lesser  mirrors,  that  make  up  for  him 
The  one  great  mirror  which  exhibits  him 
Great  as  he  is,  and  greater,  great  as  all. 
The  living  eats  the  fruit  of  ages  dead. 
And  none  can  keep  his  doings  to  himself, 
Nor  would  he,  if  he  could.     The  best  intends 
His  work  for  others  ;    for  a  great  mind  feels 
The  world  to  be  itself,  itself  the  world. 
The  good  man's  evening-redness,  —  glory  is; 
Of  great  men  't  is  the  ruddy  light  of  dawn  ; 
To  the  most  great  't  will  be  some  time  the  day, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  95 

Yet  not  his  own,  but  that  of  all  beside, 

To  him  remote,  unheard-of.     So  can  pure 

Love  for  humanity  yield  only  deeds 

Long  resonant,  which  all  men  love  to  tell: 

"  How  great  is  man,  —  how  beautiful  is  earth ! " 

Achilles  chose  fame  for  divinity, 

And  even  he  gained  not  the  fame  he  gave : 

For  we  now  have  it,  we  enjoy  it,  ours 

Achilles  is,  and  ours  too  his  renown ; 

Under  his  name  the  flower  blooms  (that  is  all) 

Homer  once  deeply  planted  in  his  heart. 

Who  honoreth  is  enriched  by  him  he  honors, 

The  lover  is  made  rich  by  the  beloved ; 

Every  fair  thing  enriches  its  admirer, 

And  man  himself  lives  for  the  God  on  Earth. 

XII. 

Worth  of  great  Souls  to  Humanity. 

There  are,  at  all  times,  but  a  few  great  hearts 

Who  clearly  understand  the  world,  and  clearly 

Distinguishing  the  true  and  good  therein, 

Clearly  reject  and  hate  the  bad  and  false. 

Esteeming  beauty  as  a  holy  thing, 

They  lift  it  up  before  the  people's  eyes,  — 

(As  Moses  did  his  magic  serpent,  which, 

Mortal  itself,  yea,  dying,  healed  all  those 

Wrho  looked  on  it,  by  their  own  power  of  faith),  — • 

To  make  them  wrell  thereby;    their  love  becomes 

The  love  of  many ;    what  they  hate  inflames 

The  people's  hate  ;   forever  reprobate 

Is  that  which  the  great  heart  has  reprobated. 

The  sun  shines  up  in  heaven,  that  flowers  may  bloom ! 


96  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Geniuses  only  war  with  geniuses, 

Crossing  their  weapons  o'er  far  centuries ; 

And  earliest-comers  slay  the  latest  ones ! 

And  oft  the  first  fall  only  by  the  last ! 

And  to  their  graves  they  drag  whole  myriads  down. 

The  flowers  will  bloom,  while  shines  the  sun  in  heaven. 


XIII. 

Expectation  is  Possession. 

Expecting  is  itself  substantial  joy. 
In  expectation  lies  the  entire  form 
Of  that  which  thou  expectest,  hundred-fold : 
What  it  shall  be ;   what  it  will  really  be, 
And  all  it  may  be  for  the  world  and  thee. 
The  thing  itself,  then,  comes  as  a  detached 
Phenomenon, — a  shell  without  its  sea! 
A  drop,  from  out  the  golden  evening  clouds  ! 
The  fairest,  richest  present  needs  to  be 
Artistically  congregated  in  the  breast; 
The  future  lies,  one  whole,  within  the  mind. 
What  thou  expectest,  that  thou  hast,  and  longer 
And  better,  than  when  once  't  is  in  thy  grasp. 
This,  only,  makes  the  present  bearable  ; 
T  is  this  makes  youth  so  lovely  and  so  rich  ! 
To  look  at  things  over  the  shoulder  is 
The  poorest  way  to  see  them,  —  age's  way, 
Which  by  experience  grows  wise  —  and  dies ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  97 

XIV. 
Spirits  and  Bodies. 

There  are  innumerable  grave-diggers, 

Vampyres  without  number:  —  evil  men! 

They  are  such,  for  they  would  be,  —  feel  themselves 

To  be  such,  —  and  the  mind*  is  the  true  man; 

How  much  of  horrible,  flesh  hides  !     The  world 

Is  but  the  place,  where  mind  transforms  itself 

To  whatsoe'er  it  will,  materials 

And  means  thereto  being  at  hand  for  all. 

Man  is  and  makes  himself  whate'er  he  will ; 

Only  a  ghostly  being  here  and  now, 

But  in  a  new  existence,  haply  he 

Shall  be  rewarded  with  a  body,  too, — 

And  in  the  resurrection  I  rejoice ! 

Not  for  that  there  I  may  behold  revealed 

The  hideous  monsters  bad  men  truly  are ; 

No,  but  that  I  may  see  the  heavenly  shapes, 

The  lofty,  godlike  forms  of  shining  ones, 

Who,  here  humiliated,  crushed,  and  poor, 

Feeling  this  life  their  burden,  dumb  with  woe, 

Have  risen  from  boors  to  citizens  of  heaven, 

By  their  own  will  uplifted.     In  the  realm 

Of  the  free  will  is  man  omnipotent, 

Yet  often  is  content  to  be  a  king.\ 

*  Mind  is  here  used  in  the  Scriptural  sense.  —  TR. 

t  The  first  half  of  this  piece  reminds  one  of  Lowell's  "  Ghost- Seer. "  — TR. 


98  THE   LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

xv. 
How  to  know  Nature. 

The  wisest  way  of  learning  Nature  is 

For  man  to  live  his  round  of  human  life ; 

He  knows  that  circle,  that  he  can  fill  out, 

When  the  absorbing  WHOLE  would  cripple  him. 

Now  what  each  creature  is  to  learn  and  prove, 

For  that  Nature  herself  has  fitted  it. 

What  't  is  to  be  a  lily,  or  a  bee, 

That  man  can  never  know  nor  comprehend ; 

But  the  bee  knows  it  and  the  lily  too. 

Time  is  immeasurable  :    Nature's  world 

Can  wholly  be  learned  out ;    thousands  of  ways 

There  are  to  prove  all  her  felicities, 

Masks,  dresses,  small  and  great,  innumerable, 

And  light  in  each  department,  every  nook, 

That  one  may  clearly  see,  and  even  be,  all. 


XVI. 

All  Creatures  dear  to  God. 

What  may  be,  is  ;    what  may  spring  forth,  springs  forth. 

Thus  there  may  be  one  mind,  and  therefore  is, 

That  in  itself  contemplates  and  enjoys 

Through  an  invisible,  pervading  chain 

All  that  the  scarcely  separated  beings 

Of  all  the  worlds  enjoy,  see,  think,  and  are, 

That  is  at  once,  what  they  are,  each  and  all, 

And,  at  the  same  time,  infinitely  more. 

So  a  good  mother  in  the  summer  time 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  99 

Hands  round  to  all  her  children  strawberries ; 
But  one  she  tastes  beforehand  with  her  lips 
And  gives  it  to  the  infant  in  her  lap, 
Which  they  forgot, — because  it  lay  so  still! 
And  yet  she  truly  tastes  upon  her  tongue 
How  to  her  every  child,  and  even  the  least, 
The  sweet  strawberry  tastes  upon  the  tongue : 
And  as  they  smile,  she  smiles,  with  joy,  for  oft 
Her  childhood  knew  the  flavor  of  the  fruit : 
And,  if  thou  wilt,  note  kindly  this  one  thing : 
The  image  of  "the  Mother  of  us  all" 
At  Ephesus,  the  fair,  majestic  shape, 
Was  but  an  earlier  statue,  piously 
Hewn  out  by  men  in  marble,  of  "  Our  Father!" 


XVII. 
Why  does  the  new  Bride  weep  ? 

Why  weeps  the  lovely  bride,  who  knowingly, 
Willingly  drawn  by  a  resistless  charm, 
Has  given  herself,  a  pure,  chaste  virgin  now, 
Forever  to  her  youth,  her  dear  one?     Ah, 
She  flieth,  sobbing,  to  her  mother's  arms 
And  weeps  out  like  a  child  upon  the  heart 
Which  lovingly  has  watched  her  destinies 
Up  to  this  very  day.  —  Why  does  she  weep? 
These  are  not  tears  of  sorrow  and  of  pain,  — 
She  is  too  glad  to  comprehend  her  bliss  ; 
Nor  yet  for  her  dear  mother  does  she  weep, 
Nor  for  the  home,  the  garden,  and  the  trees, 
Which,  to  a  ripe  young  womanhood  grown  up, 
She  now  must  leave,  and  with  another  walk. 


TOO  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Nor  weeps  she  yet  for  joy,  —  for  ah,  her  mother 

Weeps  with  her  too,  and  for  her  daughter  weeps, 

Whom  she,  —  sole  thanks  for  all  her  pains !  —  must  lose ! 

Must  yield  her  up  into  another's  arms, 

Forced  from  the  old,  familiar  track  of  life ! 

Nor  does  she  weep  with  trembling,  as  for  fear; 

For  there  is  naught  to  fill  her  heart  with  dread, 

Not  for  a  noble  spouse,  a  rich  estate  ; 

And  children,  in  presentiment  beheld, 

Would  surely  only  make  her  blush  and  smile  ! 

—  "Why  weep'st  thou  then?"  —  a  faithful  sister  asks, 

And  takes  her  hand,  imploring.  —  "Ah,  I  weep,"  .... 

She  says,  .  ..."  I  stand  on  one  of  those  bold  heights 

Of  life  !     By  imperceptible  degrees 

Have  I,  with  infant's,  child's,  and  maiden's  step, 

Climbed  hither,  —  and  amazed  I  now  look  down 

On  the  long  tract  —  thousands  of  years  —  which  I 

Have  left  behind  me,  —  and  before  me  lie 

Thousands  of  years  of  untried  coming  life,  — 

And  in  the  midst,  here  in  this  hour,  I  stand 

Leaning  upon  a  mother's  heart!     My  hand 

Clasped  in  a  brother's !    as  if  heavenly  spirits 

Attended  me!  —  and  must  this  beauteous  hour 

Pass  by?     This  too  be  naught?     Nay,  it  shall  be 

The  highest,  loveliest,  most  blissful  one 

Of  my  existence.     Yea,  in  this  poor  life 

The  holiest  to  my  heart.     O  mother,  mother, 

And  brother,  ah,   there  is  a  life  eternal, 

Whereof  our  fairest  hours   are  only  tones, 

Echoes,  —  that  wake  a  shudder  in  the  breast! 

But  the  whole  soul  is  not  yet  quite  awake, 

And  so,  before  the  bliss  which  weighs  me  down, 

Like  a  poor  flower  beneath  the  drenching  rains 


THE  LAYMAN'S 'BREVIARY.  101 

From  full  spring-tempests,  do  I  bow  and  sink ! 

The  inexpressible,  ....  I  feel  it  now, 

I  have  it !     You  I  have !     And  you  have  me,  — 

And  have  so  little,  ah,  in  my  poor  self! 

And  why  I  weep,  —  if  truly  I  divine  : 

I  weep  from  deepest  human  modesty." 

—  And  so  the  holy  hour  had  likewise  passed; 

And  now  had  we,  as  from  a  mountain-top 

Of  outlook  wide,  descended  to  the  vale, 

And  went  to  sit  around  the  nuptial  board, 

And  there  serenely  the  old  moon  looked  in. 


XVIII. 

The  Virgin  coming  from  the  Churchyard. 

The  fairest  maid  that  from  the  churchyard  comes, 

Has  lost  all  charm  henceforth  for  the  day's  eye : 

Now  as  a  mortal  she  appears,  a  shadow 

From  yonder  deep,  dark  ground  of  azure  blue, 

Which  men  call  heaven  and  eternity, 

Veiled  with  the  glory,  from  that  world,  she  sheds. 

All  meek  and  lowly  walks  she  at  thy  side, — 

All  melancholy  walk'st  thou  at  her  side, — 

Who  would  make  her  his  wife  ?     For  he  to-day 

Desires  no  mortal  wife  !     To  him  life  seems 

Not  worth  even  just  beginning,  —  and  lo,  there 

He  just  now  saw  it  ended,  thousand-fold. 

She  softly  prints  a  "good  night"  on  his  hand; 

"  To-morrow  I  will  come  again,"   says  he. 

"  To-morrow  !  "    she  replies  ;    and  none  can  say 

Thou  bring'st  not,  gracious  Sun,  new  days  to  men, 

Making  all  life  immortal  in  thy  beams. 


1 02  THE  LA  YMAWS  BRE  VI A R  K 


XIX. 

The  Child  in  his  Paradise. 

He  has  been  playing  all  day  long;   has  sate 

With  flowers,  and  given  them  food  and  drink,  as  if 

They  were  his  little  children,  and  has  closed 

The  very  eve  with  pleasures  ;    and  so  now 

Sweet  sleep  comes  over  him  so  speedily, — 

The  little  soul  seems  as  if  breathed  away ! 

And  yet  to-morrow  he  '11  forget  it  all, 

And  live  again,  filled  with  a  new-born  day ; 

Full  to  child's  ecstasy  of  endless  life. 

For  when  his  mother  shall  become  one  day,  .... 

One  day,  as  small  again,  as  he  himself,  .... 

Then  will  he  bear  her  on  his  arms,  and  all 

She  's  done  for  him,  he  vows  his  little  hand 

Shall  do  for  her,  and  seals  it  with  a  kiss  ! 

And  even  now  he  weeps  for  joy,  poor  thing ! 

Not  knowing,  whom,  one  day,  —  in  mother's  stead, — 

God  in  his  arms  shall  lay,  ....  Himself,  as  child. 

Thus  is  there  still  a  Paradise  on  earth, 

Still  in  the  midst  of  us  and  at  our  side, 

At  hand  !    within  us  !     For  we  feel  it  nigh  I 

We,  —  we  can  weep,  too,  even  in  Paradise, 

And  suffer,  like  the  child,  —  (for  children  suffer 

Much  greater,  sorer  inexpressibly, 

And  bitterer  woe  than  we), — we  can  behold 

Even  Nature's  frailty,  —  see  her  fade,  and  die; 

Yes,  see  her  die,  and  yet  remain  in  heaven, 

Just  as  the  child  in  his  sweet  heaven  abides. 

That  makes  the  power  of  love  !     The  power  to  see 

That,  like  the  heart,  all  nature  is  divine; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  103 

That  time  exists  not,  —  naught  but  blissful  work; 

Nor  space,  but  only  one  wide  heavenly  life  ! 

Buoyant  as  childhood  must  the  pure  soul  be, 

Busy  as  childhood,  without  care  or  fear, 

Nursing  not  distant  thoughts,  but  near  and  deep, 

Filled  wholly  with  a  present  majesty ; 

Then,  then,  shall  we  too,  not  unconsciously 

But  unconcernedly,  without  a  hope 

Of  better  things,  or  yet  a  fear  of  worse, 

Or  looking  for  an  end,  —  enjoy  ourselves. 

The  clear  enjoyment  of  the  free,  whole  soul 

That  is  complete  enjoyment;    consciousness 

Comes  after  bliss,  —  Living,  alone,  is  life ! 

Not  re-collecting,  ....  stringing  empty  shells  !  * 


XX. 

Honor  the  homeliest  Callings. 

Why  wilt  thou  mock  at  poor  humanity, 
That  this  one  is,  forsooth,  a  tooth-puller, 
That  other  one  a  Doctor ;    that  the  joiner 
Will,  for  whoever  shall  bespeak  the  same, 
Prepare  a  coffin  in  the  sweat  of  's  brow, 
And  beg  his  future  custom  heartily ; 
That  the  grave-digger  lives  by  burying, 
And  often  murmurs  too  at  the  hard  times ; 
That  yonder  man  upon  the  powder-house 
At  risk  of  life  sets  up  a  lightning-rod ; 
While  here  the  constables  come  bringing  in 

*  It  is  just  to  add  the  original :  — 

"  Erinnerung  nicht,  .  .  .  Zusammenreihen !  .  .  .  Sammeln. 


104  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  robber  with  the  block  upon  his  foot.  — 

Behold  !    all  do  an  indispensable  work : 

To-day  's  required  task,  with  tranquil  mind, 

A  calmer  mood  than  thousands  can  command, 

Who  deem  themselves  too  good  for  such  low  work! 

The  little  men  do  the  great  things  for  life, 

By  the  enormous  power  of  their  chain, 

And  lead  it  onward  to  its  shining  goal. 

Do  thou  not  think  for  others!     Feel  thou  not 

For  all  men  !     Do  thy  work  as  quietly, 

O  heart !     Then  shalt  thou  feel  like  joy  in  thine ! 

Be  thou  content  to  know  what  others  do, 

Who  hardly  know  it,  —  and  admire  them! 

Self-mastery  makes  the  master,  —  and  the  man! 


XXI. 

[Matthew  xxi.] 
Humanity  made  God  in  Christ. 

Much  had  He  thought  and  suffered,  in  whose  road 

Ye  strew,  as  for  a  king,  a  wall  of  palms, 

Your  sorrows  he  had  conquered,  and  his  own. 

He  saw  what  't  was  you  did,  that  full  of  joy, 

Ye  consecrated  him  to  be  a  king. 

Such  is  he  still !     Of  all  the  tribes  of  earth, 

Ev'n  of  all  kings,  who  bow  the  knee  to  him, — 

Or  sink  before  him,  ....  if  they  scorn  his  word, — 

For  every  good  man's  word  demands  obedience. 

Thus  has  the  carpenter  Joseph's  foster-son 

Lifted  himself  from  out  his  lowly  hut, 

By  seeming  to  desire  so  near  to  naught : 

Not  land,  nor  people,  house,  —  not  even  a  stone 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  105 

To  yield  his  head  a  pillow,  for  the  night, — 

For  that  he  left  next  morning  in  the  field. 

And  yet  he  did  desire  all  things,  of  all ; 

Only  he  could  not  own  all  that  at  once,  — 

And  so  possesses  all  things  by  degrees. 

He  was  too  great  to  sit  upon  a  throne ; 

A  king  of  men,  who  'd  reign  in  palaces, 

Must  wear  the  chains  of  's  time,  he  must  be  small, 

And  seem  still  smaller,  limiting  himself, 

Holding  himself  a  prisoner  by  his  care 

And  thought  for  bread,  for  neighbors,  land,  and  life. 

This  he  gave  up !     No  people  did  he  find 

Made  for  him,  —  he  created  for  himself 

A  people,  and  creates  it  evermore :  —  . 

Humanity!     And  //  must  be  a  man 

Like  him.     As  he.     The  Son  of  God.     Even  God. 

Who  gives  a  glass  of  water  to  the  faint, 

Gives  it  to  God.     Whoso  denies  it  him 

Leaves  God  to  thirst,  who  thirsts  for  love,  whose  thirst 

Love  and  a  lovely  soul  alone  can  slake. 

Then  gladly  lose  thy  personality,  — 

Which  thou,  as  Thou,  hast  not,  but  may'st  become,  — 

In  the  most  high  and  holy  person,  —  God ! 

To  no  one  be  thou  subject,  but  thy  God, 

For  God  is  thine,  more  than  thy  heart  and  arm : 

Nor  be  ashamed  of  this  :    to  disappear 

As  in  the  sea  the  drop, — nor  yet  be  proud, 

For  to  partake  of  God  is  but  our  nature, 

As  every  flower  enjoys  the  heavenly  dew,  — 

And  every  flower  sends  up  its  prayer :    "  Our  Father." 

It  does  far  more  than  praying  it  aloud,  — 

It  shows  it  forth,  by  tender,  heavenly  grace, 

It  is  the  prayer,  —  it  is  the  child  of  God. 


io6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

—  Now  go  and  walk  a  little  in  the  garden 

Of  Spring  and  hear  the  chime  of  Easter  bells  ! 

XXII. 

Stealing. 

Last  night,  by  dark,  the  poor  old  woman  came, 

And  from  thy  pantry  stole  a  fragrant  loaf. 

Well !   and  shall  I  be  angry,  then,  that  she 

Was  hungry?     Shall  I  laugh,  that  she,  thus  driven, 

Took  what  /  had  not  given  her,  unconcerned 

For  the  poor  people  and  their  poverty ! 

No !  let  me  rather  pity  her  whose  soul, 

By  my  hard-heartedness   and  other  men's, 

Was  forced  to  such  a  pitiable  act ! 

Let  me  take  pity  on  myself,  who,  having, 

Cared  not  and  thought  not  who  around  me  starved! 

And,  —  that  we  may  not  twice  commit  a  fault, — 

Go,  give  her  double,  in  advance,  and  further, 

Bid  the  poor  woman  come  again  to  me. 

The  rich,  hard-hearted  man  who  gives  not,  steals. 

The  poor  man  only  does  it  in  his  place. 

The  strong,  the  blind,  and  the  unmerciful 

Bear  the  world's  guilt  and  all  its  misery. 

To  meet  the  one  just  as  we  do  the  other, — 

Laying  on  all  alike  an  equal  load, 

Of  hardness,  chastisement,  yea,  even  revenge, — 

Would  hardly  pass  for  justice  down  in  hell. 

He  is  the  just  man  who  gives  each  his  due. 

Thou,  therefore,  then,  and  only  then,  art  just, 

When  thou,  as  man,  giv'st  thy  whole  self  to  each, 

A  perfect  goodness   and  a  perfect  love : 

For  that  is  his  in  thee,  and  thine  in  him. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  107 

XXIII. 

The  Greatness  of  Man. 

Who  tells,  how  great  is  man !     For  earth  supplies 
No  standard.     By  proportion  we  may  guess. 
Of  monstrous  creatures  the  most  monstrous,  —  such 
That  Nature  makes  us  look  on  her  with  dread 
And  horror,  —  the  most  fell  of  hideous  shapes, 
More  frightful  far  than  the  gigantic  snakes, 
More  loathsome  than  the  crocodile,  more  still 
And  stealthy  than  the  foul  hyena,  gnashing 
Their  teeth  of  mastodons,  more  strange  and  grim, 
With  their  mask-heads  and  scaly  coats  of  mail, 
Than  Ahriman  could  e'er  invent  in  dream, — 
Thousands  and  thousands  of  such  creatures,  seas 
Swarming  with  such,  —  man  daily  eats  and  drinks. 
He  sees  them  not.     Yet  had  he  a  god's  eyes, 
How  great  would  they  appear  to  him,  —  how  great 
Would  man  appear  to  man  !     The  human  face 
The  magic  disk  of  a  gigantic  moon ! 
A  wood  of  hollow  snake-trees  covers  it. 
Like  far  snow-mountains    shining  in  the  sun 
His  forehead  gleams,  a  heaven  of  ivory, 
A  sacred  arch  covers  the  laboratory 
Of  soul  and  brain,  as  in  warm  March  white  snow 
Covers  the  teeming  bosom  of  the  earth. 
The  mouth  a  grotto  with  stalactites  white 
Of  teeth  appears,  —  and  in  it  dwells  Chimera, 
The  tongue,  free-moving,  fettered  in  the  abyss. 
Thence,  as  of  old  from  Delphi's  sacred  cave, 
From  the  dark  spirit-castle  of  the  world 
Oracular  words  sound  up,  and  voices  of  the  gods  ! 
Two  precious  stones,  blue  spheres,  unscalable,* 

*  Uniibersehbar,  —  not  to  be  looked  over. 


io8  THE  LAY  MAWS  BREVIARY. 

Repose,  ....  nay  live !  ....  themselves  inspiring  life, 

Each  under  cover  of  its  shady  grove, 

Sparkling  like  lakes,  Diana's  looking-glasses, 

Bright,  fathomless  !   and  out  from  them  gleams  forth 

The  power  of  the  glance,  the  soul  of  love, 

As  the  sea  gleams  by  night  with  inner  fire ; 

And  great  drops  of  clear  liquid,  —  such  't  is  said, 

The  chaste  wife  of  the  Brahmin  yonder  drew, 

Gather  themselves  and  globe  themselves,  —  to  tears. 

Man,  like  the  world,  admits  no  measurement. 

Hence,  to  the  fine-souled  Greeks,  the  face  serene 

Of  man,  in  all  his  glory  and  his  strength, 

Appeared  and  was  their  highest  God:    their  Zeus. 

Not  greater  than  majestic,  strength-crowned  man, 

The  Indian  figures  to  himself  his  God, 

Reigning  omnipotent  through  purest  love. 

How  great  now  should  man's  body  be  esteemed, 

Who  stands  upon  creation's  farthest  verge, 

.  .  .  .  A  hermit  on  the  spirit-ocean's  brink,  .... 

Thousands  below  him  ;   and  above  him  none  !  — 

Wrapped  in  the  human  race  are  thousand  kinds 

Of  higher  beings,  heavenly  natures  all, — 

For  where  's  the  line  shall  sound  the  deeps  of  mind  ? 

And  were  it  possible  to  find  bottom  there,  — 

What  measure  e'er  can  reach  to  Virtue's  height ! 

Of  Love  who  measures  the  pure  blessedness ! 

XXIV. 
Rest. 

"  One  rest  alone  is  possible,"  yet  not 
The  rest  of  indolent  slumber  in  the  grave  ! 
True  rest  is  the  calm  energy  of  Mind, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  109 

Which,  in  the  world,  yet  high  above  all  worlds, 
Hovering  serene,  all  evil  holds  in  chains, 
So  full  of  good  that  it  knows  not  the  bad, 
And  yields  to  love  pure  sway.     To  it  belongs 
The  liveliest  life  !   unmarred  tranquillity, 
Conflict  with  all  the  world :    the  deepest  peace  ! 
.  .  .  .  The  all-pervading  Power  that  ceaselessly 
Its  boundless  work  continues  in  profound 
Primeval  stillness,  —  wilt  thou  to  that  power 
Deny  repose,  tranquillity,  and  bliss  ? 
To  God?  —  And  God's  rest  is  not  in  the  grave! 
I  must  go  through  the  grave  to  come  to  Him, 
And  hope,  in  love  and  labor,  to  find  —  peace! 
God  is  no  better  thing  than  thou  —  canst  be. 

XXV. 

Man  the  Child  of  his  Time. 

Each  is  a  child  and  creature  of  his  time. 

What  grows  around  him,  he  drinks  in,  and  grows. 

What  in  a  later  age  unfolds  itself, 

That  sweeps,  like  wind  and  rain,  with  godlike  might, 

But  fruitless,  o'er  the  head  of  the  ripe  crop. 

Youth  only  is  the  fructifying  time, 

As  is  the  spring  to  budding  trees  ;   what  then 

Bloomed  not  as  man,  was  not  impregnated 

By  floating  pollen,  that  he  ne'er  puts  forth, 

To  that  he  never  ripens,  for  himself 

Or  others,  that  expect  thou  not  of  him. 

The  works  of  man,  when  he  grows  up,  become 

Only  what  he  in  youth,  yea,  childhood,  was  ;  * 

*  See  a  beautiful  passage  in  "My  Early  Days,"  beginning,  "The  clew  of 
our  destiny,  wander  where  we  will,  lies  at  the  cradle's  foot." 


1 1 o  THE  LA  YMAN^S  BRE  VI A R  Y. 

For  what  he  thinks  and  feels  and  loves  and  lives, 

And  all  his  further  doing,  but  unfolds, 

Elaborates,  and  completes  the  child  —  no  more! 

And  when  man  dies,  his  works  are  buried  with  him, 

And  their  first  influence.     O  then  call  not  Death 

"  Nothing  at  all !  "     'T  is  something  verily 

To  leave  one's  work  unfinished  in  the  midst. 

The  world  's  full,  roaring   stream  rolls  on  its  wealth, 

Crowning  therewith  the  newly  broken  shores, 

Meanwhile  the  old  shores  stand  there  petrified, 

And  full  of  petrified  forms  that  once  were  men, 

Holding  aloft  their  works  upon  their  hands, 

Which,  like  the  hand,  are  also  turned  to  stone!* 

And  only  spirit  with  its  wakening  power 

Opens  again  the  book,  full  of  the  breath 

Of  withered  roses,  fresh  no  more  ;    for  it 

The  divine  Spirit's  human  Avatar, 

Its  transit  across  time,  is  here  arrested, 

Full  of  a  truth  and  beauty  of  its  own, 

Yet  not  the  highest,  not  the  Eternal  one  ; 

Sacred  to  men  as  the  time-hardened  rut 

In  which  their  ancestors,  when  living,  went; 

And  blooming  flowers  breathe  fragrance  in  the  track 

As  in  sarcophagi  of  risen  men  ! 

Who  cannot  rouse,  remains  himself  entombed, 

To  him  the  old  world  lives,  but  not  the  new; 

For  life  itself  waits  to  be  animated ! 

But  he  who  rises  from  the  graves  awakes 

Thousands  of  dead.     The  life-giver  is  gloriously 

Enriched  with  that  to  which  he  giveth  life, 

And  all  its  worth  he,  too,  himself  is  worth. 

*  An  apparent  allusion  to  the  Memnon  statues  by  the  Nile. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  m 

XXVI. 

The  Mother  at  her  Child's  Burial. 

Lo,  where  a  solemn  man,   and  silent,  ....  clad 

In  a  black  mantle,  ....  in  the  golden  morn, 

Forth  to  the  green  and  grassy  place  of  graves 

Walks,  carrying  a  little  coffined  child : 

And  though  half  hidden,  still  the  morning  sun 

Espies  the  little  coffin,  and  from  heaven 

Graciously  gilds  it  for  the  few  short  steps ! 

How  e'en  the  old  man  is  touched  by  children's  death! 

And  yet  none  follows  this  one  with  wet  eyes  ! 

Only,  be  certain,  —  the  poor  mother  there, 

Standing  before  her  house,  weeps  bitterly, 

Strains  her  sad  gaze  and  seems  to  beg  the  man 

To  let  her  darling  down  right  tenderly ! 

And  veils  herself  for  grief.  —  At  length  she  sees 

For  the  first  time,  scarcely  distinguishable,  .  .  . 

The  little  grave  far  off,  clad  in  fresh  green, — 

She  weeps  aloud  and  flies.     For  she,  she  knew 

The  child,  —  yea,  knew  it  as  she  knew  herself! 

....  And   seest   thou,    seest  thou,  heart,   who    't  is    that 

love  ? 

They  love,  who  know !     Who  know  well,  truly  love ! 
Acquaint  thyself  with  men,  and  with  the  world ; 
With  strangers  even,  and  the  foreign  world, 
And  thou  wilt  love  them  as  the  mother  loves 
Her  child.     For  to  its  very  mother  once 
The  little  child  was  strange,  —  was  new!   and  yet 
As  near  akin  as  she  is  to  her  child  — 
So  near  art  thou  to  God  and  to  the  world  ; 
So  deeply  bound  to  be  acquainted  with  them! 


H2  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

—  Go  now,  pluck  flowers  !   and  twine  a  little  wreath 
And  thankful  lay  it  on  the  little  grave. 


XXVII. 
Honor  thy  Father. 

Thou  honorest  not  thy  Father,  proudly  saying: 
"  All  being  from  itself  derives  its  worth, 
Each  one  creates  his  life's  worth  and  his  own! 
The  boy  soon  learns  to  find  it  beautiful 
For  pleasure's  sake;  the  father  holds  it  dear 
Because  of  his  dear  children  ;    and  the  mother,  — 
To  her  't  is  priceless  for  his  sake  and  theirs ; 
Each  day  its  worth  enhances  ;   coarsest  men 
By  custom  come  to  be  in  love  with  it, 
Till  it  grows  wellnigh  indispensable ! 

—  He  thought  but  of  himself;    how  then  of  me!"  — 
Experience  exempts  from  special  thought. 

Just  as  the  human  dwells  in  God,  the  old 
Head  of  the  family  to  us  and  all, — 
The  impulse  to  become  and  be  a  man, — 
So  in  the  mind  and  in  the  sense  of  man 

—  Of  human  kind,  —  male  woman,  —  female  man, — 
Already  dwell,  mysteriously  inborn, 

The  dear  and  cherished  forms  of  spouse  and  child ; 
For  else  the  woman  would  not  seek  the  man 
Nor  man  seek  woman,  and,  by  woman,  children ; 
As  on  the  rose-bush  he,  in  lovely  May, 
By  right  already  hopes,  expects  the  rose. 
So  has  the  father  long  fore-dreamed  his  child 
The  while  it  lived  in  him,  as  the  fruit's  bud 
Secretly  lives  within  the  parent-tree ; 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Thus  has  he  known  thee,  loved  thee,  ere  thy  birth  ! 
And  when  thou  earnest,  fondly  gazed  on  thee, 
And  said  to  thee  exulting  :    "  Art  thou  here  ?  " 
But  he  who  bare  existence  gave  to  thee, 
Gave  thee  therewith  all  that  which  afterward 
Made  of  existence  beauteous  life  for  thee. 
He  who  a  naked  rose-twig  sendeth  thee, 
Has  given  thee,  surely,  all  its  roses  too, — 
'T  was  just  the  roses  he  presented  thee  ! 
Not  the  bare  rose-twig,  plainly ;    for  he  knew 
That  in  the  twig  a  thousand  roses  slept, 
Which  thou  should'st  one  day  gather  and  enjoy. 
But  He  who  gave  thee  being  's  fruitful  twig, 
Gives  thee,  beside  it,  earth,  sun,  warmth,  and  rain, 
And  a  whole  heaven  of  bliss  and  loveliness. 
Thou  art  to  be  a  man !     That  thou  would'st  be 
He  knew  and  well  commended  it  to  thee! 
And  art  thou  thankful  for  the  gift,  —  why  then, 
Thy  common  bread  becomes  a  precious  joy. 
The  ungrateful  makes  life  ashes !     Gratitude 
Could  of  itself  create  its  God,  and  Father ! 


XXVIII. 

Happiness  that  survives  Youth. 

If  't  were  to  be  that  none  should  longer  live 
Who  love  no  longer  in  the  worldly  sense, 
Who  nothing  crave,  but  objects  of  pure  choice ; 
If  none  were  longer  happy,  all  henceforth 
Unblest,  whom  beauty  could  no  more  befool 
As  once,  when,  for  the  first  time,  the  young  soul 
Looked  upon  beauty  with  astonishment,  — 


IT3 


n4  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Then 'must  the  mighty  multitude  of  men, 

Soon  as  the  uncertain  days  of  youth  are  gone, 

Be  carried  to  the  grave !     Then  none  should  live 

To  know  the  blessings  of  the  further  life 

Which  youth  was  but  the  entrance  to,  the  time 

Of  preparation,  and  apprenticeship  ; 

All  man  had  earned  were  smoke  and  vanity ; 

The  large,  the  tranquil  look  out  into  life, 

The  sympathy  with  richly-dowered  humanity, 

The  knowledge  how  to  dwell  in  the  Gods'  house, 

At  once  an  inmate  both  of  earth  and  heaven. 

—  But  no,  't  is  only  the  unloved  thou  seest, 

Only  the  inwardly  uncultivated, 

Drag  o'er  their  youthful  passions  into  days 

Which  bring  to  others  new  and  radiant  joy ; 

And  now,  unsated  and  insatiable, 

Cold  to  the  heart,  corrupting  and  corrupt, 

Only  not  utterly  despair,  because 

Used  to  their  load.     But  the  great  people  of  men, 

Following  in  life's  procession,  ev'n  the  poor,  .... 

Yea,  poorest,  (they  who  do  not  glut  themselves 

With  feelings  they  are  ever  warming  over, 

And  painfully  imposing  on  the  world,) 

Them  thou  behold'st  like  fruit-trees,  fair  and  prosperous, 

Bearing  what  their  bloom  promised ;   letting  fall 

What  they  have  borne,  —  full  of  new  buds  again! 

The  young  man's  rosy  cheeks,  the  father's  boys 

Now  wear,  as  if  their  kisses  from  his  cheeks 

Had  stole  the  rosy  hue  !     The  young  bride's  laugh 

Is  laughed  now  by  her  girls  !     Meanwhile  the  mother 

Smiles  only !     Mildness  is  her  greatest  joy. 

Her  deepest  sadness  is  sobriety ; 

Yet  is  her  mildness  blest;   her  soberness 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  115 

Is  holy !     For  't  is  pictured  on  the  face 

Which  God  in  the  beginning  stamped  on  man, 

And  said  to  him :    "  So  shalt  thou  then  be  glad, 

When  making  others  glad  thy  gladness  is, 

And  drying  others'  tears  makes  thy  tears  flow ! " 

Then  let  delusive  show  delude  not  thee, 

For  there  's  a  natural  sweet  in  vice  itself, 

What  scarcely  lengthens  out  the  base  man's  life,  — 

It  is  not  that  which  gives  the  good  man  pain, 

Sore  sense  of  loss.     And  feel'st  thou  discontent 

At  times,  think  it  not  strange  that  thou  should'st  feel, 

As  his  new  life  the  unsheathed  butterfly, 

The  daily  transformation  of  the  'man 

Within  thee,  and  of  men  and  earth  around, 

And  the  infinitude  of  life  itself! 

The  genuine  man  is  happy  all  the  time,  — 

Yet  happiness  has  its  own  sadness  too ! 


XXIX. 

What  produces  its  like  is  Mortal. 

That  which  brings  forth  its  equal,  new  and  young, 

Whether  it  be  plant,  bird,  or  fish,  or  man, 

Is  mortal :    for  to  lengthen  out  its  life, 

Perhaps  forever,  —  it  renews  its  youth. 

And  therefore  are  all  tulips  called  —  the  tulip  ! 

And  therefore  are  all  swallows  called  —  the  swallow, 

As  if  they  were  but  one,  and  are  but  one, 

The  same  that  comes  with  the  eternal  Spring ! 

They  that  produce  what  's  earthly,  pass  away 

Like  summer-plants,  and  do  not  winter  here, 

Require  continually  new  shoots,  new  springs, 


n6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

In  order  not  to  perish  with  the  year. 

But,  —  that  which  dies  not  brings  not  forth  its  like; 

For  having  life  within  itself  it  stands 

In  thousand  children's  stead,  like  sun  and  moon 

And  stars.     Wilt  thou,  now,  be  immortal,  man  — 

Then  bring  forth  naught  but  that  which  is  divine 

In  beauty,  truth,  morality !   naught  else 

Than  what  thou  art  thyself  and  of  thyself 

Mayest  become  :  —  this  is  art's  noble  work ; 

This  the  true  word,  —  the  good  deed;   many  a  one! 

This  shall  abide  like  thee,  —  its  dwelling-place 

The  Kingdom  of  the  Sun;  —  it  shall  abide 

Forevermore  in  that  mysterious  realm  ! 

It  propagates  itself,  with  heavenly  increase, 

Yet  lasts,  itself,  —  like  sun  and  moon  and  stars. 


XXX. 

The  Auricula's  Children  and  ours. 

Thus  early  from  the  Auricula,  still  in  bloom, 

Loosening  themselves  again,  behold,  ....  her  children,  . . . 

Future  auriculas  !     And  now  when  they 

Strike  root  in  turn,  then  will  they  need  no  more 

The  mother-stalk ;    and  yet  without  a  pang 

The  flower-mother  sees  this  and  lets  it  pass  ! 

But  yonder,  —  see  !  that  very  little  girl 

Makes  her  a  doll !   so  soon !   and  with  alarm 

I  look  upon  it !     For  the  doll,  that  means 

To  her  already  her  own  future  daughter; 

And  as  she  plays,  —  that  is,  in  earnest  lives, — 

She  thinks  no  longer  of  her  mother,  save 

In  play !  .  .  .  .  And  with  a  smile  the  mother  sees  it  all. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  117 

—  So  good  are  parents,  so  disinterested ! 

So  void  of  truth  is  man  from  childhood  up ! 

So  artful  is  he,  and  withal  appears 

So  innocent,  ....  and  the  soul  feels  so  too ; 

For  every  being  is  ordained  to  this : 

That  it  exists.     And  this  to  help  it  do, 

Is  of  its  parents  the  —  unconscious  —  task. 

Lo,  where  a  bride  goes  yonder  to  the  Church, 

And  from  the  Church  home  to  her  husband's  house, 

And  not  till  now  the  mother  —  father  —  weep! 

Although  long  since  in  secret  was  that  heart 

Loosed  from  them,  that  best  heart,  —  so  full  of  love ! 

Yet  will  they  smile,  out  of  a  great,  deep  swell 

Of  natural  feeling,  when,  one  of  these  days, 

The  daughter's  little  daughter  comes  to  them 

And  in  her  lap  —  makes  the  new  doll  again  ! 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

M A  Y. 


MAY. 


I.  Time  divides,  —  Thought  unites. 

II.  Lowest  and  Loftiest  need  each  other. 

III.  Love  kept  alive  by  Imagination. 

IV.  Nothing  dies  to  the  Soul. 
V.  All  live  for  each. 

VI.  What  we  do  to  others,  we  do  to  ourselves. 

VII.  The  Measure  of  Life. 

VIII.  Love  of  Nature  makes  us  one  with  her. 

IX.  Each  for  all  and  all  for  each. 

X.  The  Star  in  the  East. 

XL  The  human  Face  divine. 

XII.  Man's  Greatness. 

XIII.  Atheism  of  Sorrow  rebuked. 

XIV.  Moderate  Expectations  blest. 
XV.  The  Value  of  the  Days. 

XVI.  Life  of  a  Picture. 

XVII.  Enjoy  thy  Life,  not  thy  Mode  of  Life. 

XVIII.  Vanity  and  Vexation  of  Spirit. 

XIX.  Sympathy  for  every  Form  of  Human  Life. 

XX.  It  takes  all  Men  to  make  a  Man. 

XXI.  Blessed  are  they  that  mourn. 

XXII.  War  endangers  the  Soul. 

XXIII.  Recipe  for  Contentment. 

XXIV.  Man  writes  his  Life  for  Eternity. 

XXV.  Fight  against  the  Wrong  thou  doest,  not  receivest. 

XXVI.  Contemplation  of  the  Dead. 

XXVII.  Sorrow  a  Treasure-pointer. 

XXVIII.  Day  is  a  Part  of  the  great  Night. 

XXIX.  Lesson  of  the  young  Apple-tree. 

XXX.  Study  God's  Poem. 

XXXI.  Self-possession. 


MAY. 


Time  divides,  —  Thought  unites. 

HAT   Time   is  all  one  time,  that  years   are 

naught, — 

O  say  not  so !     Thou  bitterly  shalt  feel 
There  was  a  world  before  thee  ;  centuries, 
Years,  were,  that  now  with  adamantine  walls, 
Though  not  unkindly,  yet  inexorably 
Part  thee  from  men,  —  who  would  have  been  thy  friends, 
Yet  who,  beside  thy  brown  hairs,  even  now, 
Gray-haired  and  blind,  go  tottering  on  the  staff, — 
From  trees,  —  that  having  closed  their  life,  e'en  now 
Decay  in  thy  green  prime.     But  not  the  less 
From  children,  beauteous  children,  who  in  sweet 
Confusion  look  on  thee  with  their  black  eyes, 
And  smile,  not  guessing  what  thy  sadness  means, 
Smile  and  yet  sigh.     For  darkly  they  divine     ' 
That  solar  ban,  which  shuts  each  mortal  up 
In  the  fixed  bound  of  his  appointed  days : 
Majestic  man  and  the  sweet  race  of  flowers, 
The  blooming  bush,  the  lambs  upon  the  mead, 
The  silent  cloud  that  sails  along  o'erhead, 
The  very  blade  of  grass,  and  all  that  lives, 
That  has  lived  and  that  shall  hereafter  live. 
—  One  comfort  only  know  I  in  this  grief, 
Which  is  no  grief,  but  folly,  to  light  minds : 
6 


122  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

That  we,  with  vigorous  senses,  placed  between 

That  which  has  just  gone  by,  and  that  which  comes, 

Behold  the  fading  and  the  budding  one, 

And  reach  a  hand  at  once  to  each  of  them  ! 

And,  —  that  what  dawned,  and  has  kept  pace  with  us, 

Mirrors  the  foreworld  and  the  afterworld, 

In  form  and  essence  answering  perfectly, 

Full  of  peculiar  charms  enough  to  wake 

Both  joy  and  woe,  when  found,  —  when  sadly  lost ! 

ii. 

Lowest  and  Loftiest  need  each  other. 

Set  man  as  high  as  e'er  thou  wilt,  but  leave  him 

Still  on  the  earth !     Mated  with  ox  and  ass, 

Man,  as  in  Bethlehem  once,  must  still  be  born. 

Not  without  cow,  not  without  salt  indeed, 

Comes  any  one  to  Heaven,  for  so  none  comes 

And  stays  upon  the  earth.     Were  there  no  sponge 

There  were  no  cordial,  without  wood  no  cross. 

Thus  even  history  grows, — out  of  the  woods. 

And  stones  must  be,  to  make  morality  true ; 

Wherewith,  then,  would   they,  before  Christ,  have  stoned 

The  woman  taken  in  adultery! 

All  that  exists,  fits,  and  belongs  together, 

E'en  man  and  cloud,  no  less  than  child  and  nurse. 

in. 

Love  kept  alive  by  Imagination. 

Sure,  self-based  and  our  own,  is  happiness, 
And  all  things  purely  felt  remain  in  us. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  123 

How  indispensable  to  our  love  we  deem 

The  loved  one !   and  lo !   soon  the  fatal  years 

Divide  us  from  her,  and  no  more  her  form 

Lives  round  about  us,  —  and  yet  first  love's  rapture 

Abides  within  us  still,  just  as  the  light 

Of  day  continues,  when  the  sun  is  hid 

Behind  the  clouds.     And  so  we  reach  old  age, 

With  riches  won  from  youth,  from  our  whole  life  ! 

For  all  our  feelings  were  but  golden  keys 

Unlocking  for  us  earth's  wide  store-house,  full 

Of  beauty's  treasures  :    not  for  things  we  cared, 

But  for  the  inner  growth  and  coming  forth 

In  heart  and  mind.     And  wilt  thou  follow  me, 

Then  kindle  oft  within  thee  feeling's  flame! 

Her  office  even  conception  shall  refuse, 

Unless  thou  often  wak'st  her  images  ; 

Yea,  thine  own  mother's  face  shalt  thou  forget, 

Dost  thou  not  often  call  it  up  to  thee. 

"  Thou  carest  nothing  for  it,"  Nature  thinks. 

But  whatsoe'er  is  holy  to  thy  heart, 

To  her  is  also  holy  for  thy  sake. 


IV. 

Nothing  dies  to  the  Soul. 

Why  must  life's  lovely  visions,  like  yourselves, 
Phantoms  as  well,  be  gradually  lost? 
Heart-truth,  true  love,  is  not  the  only  truth, 
There  is  a  truth  of  spirit  in  loving,  living, 
To  every  blossom  and  to  every  rose 
That  beckoned  to  us  travellers,  passing  by, 
And  said,  "Remember  me!  —  Think  of  thyself ! 


124  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

For  even  this  bright  to-day,  the  day,  is  thou ! 
And  lo,  just  now,  for  one  short  instant,  I 
Was  thou  !  — Remember  me! —  Think  of  thyself!" 
And  how  they  love  to  appear  in  us,  —  the  forms 
That  linger  in  the  soul  and  slumber  there! 
How  they,  with  cheeks  all  rosy-red  from  sleep, 
Awaking  light  and  gay,  as  children  do, 
Open  their  great  eyes  full  upon  their  friend, 
Who  let  them  sleep,  like  children,  all  the  time 
While  he  himself  journeyed,  and  loved  and  lived. 
And  yet  you  see  no  tear-drop  in  their  eyes; 
The  little  sister  reaches  out  for  thee  ! 
Thy  little  child,  whose  little  beaming  face 
Is  quenched  to  thee,  begs  to  be  taken  up ! 
Another  smiles  on  thee,  as  if  not  she, 
No,  thou,  ....  a  little  child,  — were  just  awaked; 
She  longs  to  press  thee  to  her  bosom,  —  thou 
Canst  never  press  her  to  thy  bosom  more,  — 
And  to  stir  still  more  deeply  thy  sweet  sorrow, 
To  quicken  with  diviner  life  thy  love, 
They  vanish  from  thee  down  the  vast,  dark  deep 
Of  thy  soul's  realm !     But  thou,  as  Moses  once 
Beheld  the  burning  bush,  in  heavenly  fire, 
Hast  seen  once  more  thy  being  all  aglow. 


v. 

All  live  for  each. 

To  make  a  single  nail  requires  a  forge, 
A  fire,  an  anvil,  bellows,  and  a  master ; 
A  drop  of  rain  requires  a  cloudy  heaven, 
A  single  rose  requires  the  whole  wide  earth, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  125 

The  sun,  the  powers  of  Nature  all  combined, 

Though  but  a  moment,  and  as  in  mere  play. 

To  make  a  man  takes  the  whole  spirit-realm, 

To  make  one  child,  takes  the  whole  human  race 

Up  to  the  first  creation-day  of  time, 

When  that  primeval  power,  that  old  Master, 

Sat  there  aglow,  and  coined  the  creatures  fair 

In  heavenly  fire,  in  the  magic  workshop. 

This  is  no  dream,  no  fable,  but  cool  truth. 

Then  freely  breathe,  heart,  wellnigh  stifled  now 

In  yearning  pains  at  sight  of  all  that  flood 

And  pomp  of  beauty  !     Thou,  too,  art,  —  art  one 

Of  the  divine  creations,  bearing  still 

A  holy  kindred  to  those  wonders  all. 

For  thee,  too,  is  the  universe,  and  shines 

As  truly,  steadfastly,  and  gloriously 

As  the  blue  heaven,  for  each,  yet  all  for  thee ! 

So  wholly  thine,  as  if  't  were  thine  alone  I 

The  little  green-finch    in  his  slender  nest, 

Claims  a  whole  wood  for  his  ;    the  little  smerlin 

Has  a  whole  lake  for  his  ;    the  little  rose, 

The  loveliness  of  suns,  and  the  whole  sun 

With  all  his  power.  —  And  thou,  and  thou,  dear  man, 

Thou  by  thy  thought  and  feeling  hast  them  all, 

The  entire  spirit-realm.  —  Behold,  amazed, 

The  power  that,  magic-like,  bequeathed  its  house 

To  a  thousand  children,  ....  and  the  whole  to  each ! 

VI. 

What  we  do  to  Others,  we  do  to  Ourselves. 

Whate'er  thou  doest  to  thy  fellow-man, 
That  very  thing  thou  doest  to  thyself. 


I26  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

For  he  is  —  them  !     One  spirit  are  we  all, 
As  light  is  everywhere  one  light     One  flesh, 
As  bread  all  kneaded  of  a  common  dough. 
The  good  thou  doest  is  for  thy  good,  the  bad 
Is  bad  for  thee.     Therefore  thou  bid'st  the  beggar 
Come  back  again  !    and  fosterest  the  sick  lamb. 
And  every  heart  that  wounds  another  heart 
Feels  the  blood  steal  away  from  its  own  breast! 
And  so  the  murderer  cries,  while  the  dead  man 
Is  silent  as  with  heavenly  shame.  —  And  so, 
A  child  is  silent  with  astonishment 
When  for  the  first  time  from  his  mother,  —  her, — 
God's  image,  —  he  receives  an  angry  blow ! 
And  paleness  overspreads  him,  as  one  dead. 


VII. 

The  Measure  of  Life. 

By  what  shall  life  be  reckoned?    What  event 

Of  time,  or  what  experience  of  the  soul  ? 

The  whole  of  life  itself  has  no  result 

That  can  be  seen  ;    no  child,  or  youth,  or  man, 

Or  old  man,  anywhere  attains  a  goal, 

Finds  other  human  end,  —  than  human  life. 

None  of  them  leave  behind  them  anywhere 

A  mask ;   slough  off  a  skin,  as  does  the  snake. 

Only,  at  last,  the  dying  leaves  —  the  dead! 

Lightly  they  glide  through  metamorphoses, 

Continually,  yet  imperceptibly 

Even  to  themselves,  changed  to  new  beings,  yet 

Under  the  same,  old,  ever  youthful  sun. 

By  charming  visions,  wild,  enchanting  nights, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  -127 

Nay,  by  good  deeds,  no  noble  spirit  counts ; 

'T  is  little  that  the  best  can  bring  to  pass. 

Whereby  then  shall  we  measure  life  ?     By  years  ? 

By  rapturousness  of  joy  ?     Can  images 

Of  fairest  hours  hide  haply  the  bare  walls 

Of  age  ?     Can  that  which  scarcely  is  remembrance, 

Bare  satisfaction,  can  it,  self-sufficing, 

Like  gold,  be  dragged  through  sorrow  to  the  grave  ? 

—  Dream  not  of  reckoning,  O  vain  man,  with  God ! 

Yet  wherewith,  then,  shall  life  so  fill  itself, 

That  at  each  hour  it  shall  be  rich  and  whole  ? 

Man's  bliss  comes  never  to  him  from  without; 

The  rich  man  buys  his  pleasures  all  for  naught; 

The  loftiest  oft  stands  hollow  as  the  poor, — 

Love  fills  the  soul,  and  keeps  it  full,  of  help 

For  others,  sweet  refreshment  to  itself; 

The  good  man  has  life's  fountain  in  himself; 

Wherewith  he  gladdens  all  within  his  reach 

From  early  dawn  till  night,  and  even  in  dream 

He  still  holds  out  the  cup !     He  sees  ;    he  hears  ; 

He  stays;    he  journeys;    he  is  young;   grows  old; 

Is  old;    is  poor,  —  rich  ever  in  the  same 

Good-will,  the  same  inspired,  divine  delight 

In  the  fair  creatures  of  the  first-fair,  God, 

For  whom,  as  a  true  lover,  he  is  still 

Ready  to  die,  and  ready,  too,  to  live! 

Life  has  no  goods,  it  has  no  goal  for  him ; 

Such  living  is  itself  a  holy  good, 

Is  God,  as  every  sunbeam  witnesses. 

Knowledge  of  Nature,  —  I  have  called  its  name  ; 

For  love  grows  out  of  it,  as  fruit  from  bud. 


I28  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

VIII. 
Love  of  Nature  makes  us  one  with  her. 

Study  of  holy  Nature  re-creates 

In  loving  reverence  the  great  Master's  work, 

And  from  the  full   love-bathed,  love-dripping  work, 

Love  breathes,  it  trickles  down  into  the  soul, 

Whose  yearning  gaze  would  fain 'survey  it  all! 

The  gardener  bears  the  scent  of  the  spring  flowers ; 

The  dyer  has,  himself,  as  heaven-blue  hands 

As  his  dye-kettle's  contents  are  heaven-blue  ; 

The  young  physician  gradually  learns 

To  love  his  first  sick  maiden,  and  himself 

Grows  sick  with  love  ;    yet  with  what  heightened  charms 

He  sees  her  as  the  well,  the  grateful  woman ! 

The  friend  of  flowers,  who  sought  the  flowers  alone, 

Is  fast  chained  even  by  the  loveliness 

Of  the  sweet  science.     Whoso  understands 

And  penetrates  a  matter  to  the  bottom, 

Is  to  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  life-long 

Drawn  to  it,  loves  to  teach  and  practise  it. 

From  the  best  master  only  must  one  learn. 

Thou  learnest  from  his  work  the  master's  art. 

A  work  thou  understandest  not  becomes 

Mysteriously  dear  to  thee,  when  once 

Thou  knowest,  'tis  from  thy  Master!   'tis  his  best! 

Boldly  think  thus  of  Nature !     And  create 

With  tender  reverence,  after  her, — herself, 

A  lovely  image  in  thy  soul's  pure  glass, 

And  thou  wilt  love  her  with  a  human  love. 

For  what  thou  comprehendest,  that  thou  too 

Wouldest  have  done,  and  ah,  thy  spirit  whispers : 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  129 

Thou  art  thyself  His  work,  the  lofty  power, 

All  that  thou  art;    and  ah,  thy  spirit  whispers: 

Thou  too  had'st  once  a  hand  in  this  great  work, 

As  sure  as  thou  art  spirit,  old,  primeval, 

Eternal ;    else  how  could'st  thou  grasp  a  law 

Of  such  a  work,  just  as  if  thou  thyself 

Had'st  written  down  the  paths  the  stars  should  take? 

And  now  love's  longing  rises  to  the  heart ! 

Yet  rapture  rises  higher,  rises  highest! 

For  lo  !   the  beautiful  and  loving  one 

Who  wore  thy  mother's  mask  and  lineaments, 

Who  was   it   then,  —  when  the  grave  snatched   her   from 

thee,  — 

But  she!     She,  —  Nature's  self,  most  intimate  self! 
And  then  the  man,  who  took  so  faithfully 
The  semblance  of  thy  father,  who  so  oft 
Kissed  thee  so  fondly  with  his  human  mask, 
And  looked  out  on  thee  with  such  loving  pride 
From  those  great  eyes  of  his,  —  he,  too,  was  she, 
He,  too,  was  Nature's  self,  a  living  work 
Proceeding  from  the  full,  the  magic  whole ; 
And  ah  !   who  then  may  all  the  others  be  ? 
Those  sweet,  familiar  forms,  men,  flowers,  moon,  stars  ? 
Who  may'st  thou  be  thyself?     If  thou  dar'st  guess! 
Who  may  the  workman  be  and  who  the  work  ? 
If  thou  for  holy  dread  canst  guess  the  truth  ! 
So,  then,  from  love  of  nature  streameth  love. 
But  what  may  love  itself  be,  holy  Love  ? 
The  master's  life  and  being,  and  thine  too. 
—  If  now  thou  wilt,  canst  love,  or  if  thou  must, 
I  will  not  say  the  word  half  way :    "  Have  love," 
Nay!   rather  feel  that  you  yourselves  are  love. 

6* 


I3o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

IX. 

Each  for  all  and  all  for  each. 

The  greatest  vantage  for  humanity 

Is  this :    that  each  does  everything  for  all, 

And  each  in  turn  receives  from  all  the  same. 

How  little  one  contributes  to  the  whole, 

How  much,  however,  one  receives  from  all! 

How  true  a  guard  humanity  to  each, 

How  little  more  is  needed  after  all 

For  concord,  bliss,  and  peace,  and  the  unmarred 

Freedom  of  all  men,  than  the  will  of  all : 

To  seek  with  life  itself  the  good  of  each  ! 

'T  is  with  the  slightest  means  God  will  effect 

The  greatest  purposes,  —  but  through  the  greatest 

Of  sentiments,  through  the  divinest :    Love. 


x. 

The  Star  in  the  East. 

There  stands  the  Star  of  the  Three  Holy  Kings, 
Who  long  ago  rode  home  and  turned  to  dust, — 
The  star  in  sacred  beauty  still  shines  on. 
Yet  they  too,  sacred  in  our  hearts,  shine  on 
Who  sometime  sought  the  child,  the  child  alone! 
For  by  the  elements  and  spirits  richly 
Endowed  as  by  the  highest  godfathers, 
By  all  the  wondrous  gifts  wellnigh  opprest, 
There  in  his  cradle  lies  the  new-born  babe, 
The  human  child  that  can  do  naught  but  weep. 
And  yet  it  is  a  spirit;    'tis  love  itself! 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  131 

And  in  its  heart  brings  with  it  silently, 
As  a  sealed  book,  heaven's  treasures,  nature's  law, 
Knowledge  and  understanding  of  all  worlds 
And  every  mystery.     And  he  by  and  by 
Unfolds  the  book  and  reads  from  it  aloud, 
Reads  out  aloud  to  earth  and  to  the  sun. 
On  earth  his  word  is  heard,  is  treasured  up, 
On  earth  no  work  is  seen,  no  temple  reared, 
No  statue,  city,  tower,  or  masted  ship, 
No,  not  a  ring  hangs  in  a  maiden's  ear, 
But  all  of  it  at  last  comes  from  a  child. 
P'or  even  the  others,  too,  who  haply  helped 
Unroll  to  him  the  writing  of  the  stars, 
The  script  of  flowers  and  the  papyrus  roll 
Of  holy  Nature,  helped  prepare  the  works 
And  represent  them,  —  each  was  once  a  child! 
Thus  all  at  last  comes  only  from  a  child : 
The  inexhaustible  fountain's  golden  mouth, — 
And  the  child  seems  almost  adorable. 
Therefore  the  poorest  father  is  made  glad, 
When  in  his  hut  a  child  is  born  to  him, 
Like  to  that  richest  father,  Him  in  Heaven; 
And  rapturously  the  poorest  mother  takes  it 
Upon  her  breast  and  feeds  it  with  her  life  ; 
And  if  so  poor  as  not  to  own  a  shred, 
With  her  own  body  then  she  covers  it, 
And  thou,  who  seest  this,  art  left  in  doubt 
Which  is  more  touching,  beautiful,  and  glad : 
The  child  now!   or  such  homage  paid  to  him! 


132  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XI. 

The  human  Face  divine. 

Were  there  no  sun  in  Heaven,  what  void  were  there! 

And  yet  would  I  live  on,  if  one  could  live ; 

But  take  away  the  human  face,  and  earth 

Were  lone  and  dark  as  death.     O  human  face 

Divine  !    fair  lotus  blooming  on  the  deep 

Of  heaven's  great  sea  besides  this  earthly  shore ! 

World-mirror,  spirit-mask,  God's  counterfeit ! 

Thou,  thou,  enlightenest  sky  and  firmament, 

Else  dark!     Beholding  thee,  man  is  no  more, 

E'en  in  the  wilderness,  alone,  —  all  heaven 

Has  now  become  as  near  and  beautiful 

To  every  child,  as  is  the  world  to  man. 

God  stands  before  us  and  looks  out  on  us 

From  the  sweet  countenance  of  every  child. 

The  soul  were  naught,  —  e'en  love  itself  were  naught, 

And  naught  were  word  or  wisdom  without  thee, 

Key  of  the   world,  ....  though  from   the  hair-crowned 

head 

Of  man  the  very  tones  of  angels  rang. 
O  beauty,  thine,  thine  is  the  highest  prize, 
And  every  face  that  bears  beneath  itself 
A  pious  heart  of  childlike  purity,  — 
As  the  clear  water  holds  the  imaged  sun,— 
Is  beautiful.     The  human  countenance 
First  made  disclosure  of  the  hidden  bliss 
That  in  the  heart  of  Nature  stirs  and  throbs, — 
And  overflows,  —  in  smiles!     Upon  the  face 
First  shows  itself  the  deep  and  mighty  woe 
That  thrills  through  nature  in  her  Holiest; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY, 

And  when  a  child  is  born,  when  once  it  lives,  .  .  .  . 

When,  with  its  myriad  flowers,  encircling  spring 

Is  now  made  new  and  young,  ah,  child  and  spring 

First  live  divinely  in  the  human  face, 

Live  there  as  nowhere  else.     The  face  of  man 

Like  a  sun-dial  of  life  shows  but  bright  shadows  ; 

It  shows  us  youth,  —  which  blooms  not  on  the  stars, 

Nor  in  the  rose  so  full  of  trustful  charm  ; 

It  shows  old  age,  —  of  which  no  mouldering  tree, 

Nor  faded  leaf  such  touching  truth  proclaims, 

As  the  pale  countenance,  —  the  silver  hair, — 

The  weary  eye  of  man ;   and  even  Death, 

The  holy,  serious,  solemn  death  itself, 

Appears  in  all  its  wondrous  majesty 

Only  upon  man's  face.     And  one  thing  more : 

Thou  seest,  as  through  a  lightly  woven  veil, 

Through  his  transparent  face  the  blessedness 

Even  of  the  dead,  of  them  that  have  gone  hence 

To  where  the  still  source  of  all  being  is. 

—  Then  let  each  human  face  be  holy  to  thee, 

Thou  never  wilt  repent  revering  it, 

Be  thou  field-marshal,  surgeon,  even  king. 


XII. 

Man's  Greatness. 

A  lamb  feeds  softly  round  me  on  the  grass, 
A  so-called  innocent  creature,  —  yet  is  he 
A  horrid  monster  to  the  flowers  he  crushes, 
Mangles,  devours,  almost  more  ruthlessly, 
Than  even  the  very  tiger  throttles  lambs. 
How  great  is,  to  these  flowers,  the  very  lamb  ! 


133 


I34  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

What  awe  inspires  the  lamb  before  the  dog, 

And  to  the  dog  how  like  a  God  is  man,* 

Who  visibly  walks  round  him,  as  almighty, 

Visibly  feeds  him,  guards  him,  is  his  friend! 

But  thou,  O  man,  standest  so  bare  of  God, 

So  shieldless,  over  thee  the  empty  blue, 

And  all  that  lives,  all  lies  beneath  thy  feet! 

Alas !   if  only  the  great  child  of  earth 

Had  also  such  a  demigod,  —  such  father, 

As  his  own  little  children  have  in  him? 

How  great,  archangel-like,  arrayed  in  might, 

How  wondrous,  fair,  majestical,  long-lived, 

How  blessed  would  he  be!     How  full  of  blessing! 

And  lo!     This  miracle,  —  this  giant  is! 

He  lives !    Yea,  a  whole  race  of  giants  dwells 

With  men,  visibly  walking  on  the  earth. 

Man  has  his  gods  beside  him  on  the  earth 

Which  in  his  company  they  daily  tread, 

And  to  the  same  pure  sunlight  lift  their  eyes ! 

And  that  we  may  believe  them,  —  they  grow  up 

Amidst  the  race  and  in  the  form  of  men ! 

As  from  the  lizard-tribe  the  alligator, 

As  from  the  race  of  trees  the  giant-palm, 

As  platina-grains  appear  in  gold !     They  are  „. 

Guard,  guide,  stay,  solace,  to  the  sons  of  men, 

Round  whom  the  boys  so  cluster,  and  on  whom 

The  men  look  gladly,  listening  for  their  word. 

Who  are  these  giants  of  the  race  of  men  ? 

—  As  not  all  lumps  of  gold  ore  are  pure  gold, 

As  love  is  God's  eminent  godliness,  — 

So  are  the  loving,  wise,  and  good  of  earth 

*  See  the  remark  of  Burns,  heard  by  Scott,  about  the  fidelity  of  the  dog  to 
his  god,  man. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  135 

The  truly  godlike,  demigods,  and  gods ; 
And  so  in  olden  Scriptures  are  they  named. 


XIII. 
Atheism  of  Sorrow  rebuked. 

"  O  impudence  unrivalled,  —  in  yon  heaven,  — 

Thou  shameless,  pallid  face,  thou  sun's-eye,  —  no ! 

No  eye,  but  only  white,  unfeeling  star 

That  turns  down  on  the  earth  a  deathly  stare 

On  the  great  swarm  of  ghost-like  living  men, 

On  graves  as  grains  of  sand  innumerable  ! 

I  have  not  seen  a  single  happy  man, 

Nor  heard  of  one,  —  no,  not  a  single  one ! 

In  such  a  world  as  this,  there  can  be  none, 

Each  has  already  suffered,  but  is  yet 

To  suffer,  as  if  't  were  for  the  first  time, 

The  very  child  upon   his  mother's  breast ; 

Not  one  has  gone  down  to  the  silent  grave, 

But  some  one  tore  his  hair  with  grief  for  him, 

None,  but  that  wept,  himself,  when  he  went  down, 

Such  tears  as  no  one  sheds  for  joy !     O  world, 

So  is  thy  beauty,  then,  love,  riches,  joy, 

And  peace,  ay,  even  the  grave,  all  emptiness ! 

And  yet  is  that  blue  vault  up  yonder,  still 

Called  heaven !  —  The  old.  unhappy,  ill-starred  stars 

Are  still  pronounced  :    the  old,  the  eternal  pomp ! 

I  grudge  you  not  your  everlasting  bliss. 

Come  down  for  me  and  fill  the  grave,  O  Sun, 

With  thy  great  lustrous  head,  —  not  I  for  thee 

Climb  to  thy  throne  !  " 

And  speak'st  thou  thus,  poor  man, 

• 


136  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Who  has  just  buried  his  twelfth  and  only  child ! 

Thou  art  not  wrong,  yet  neither  thus  art  right ! 

One  word!  —  The  fulness  of  Eternal  life, 

What  brings  it  forth?     Its  last  consummate  fruit  — 

Is  Death  !  —  What  does  the  richest  heart,  like  thine, 

On  earth  here  in  the  midst  of  Heaven  feel?  —  Grief! 

The  most  unutterable,  the  highest  woe, — 

Longing!  —  Which  has  already  in  itself 

All  that  it  yearns  for ;    nay,  would  fully  have  it 

Then  only,  when  in  the  most  utter  want. 

Blest  sorrow  is  the  pith  of  the  world ;   its  life 

Is  bitter  earnest,  —  yet  mere  show!   mere  dream! 

Such  a  deep  dream  't  was  no  light  thing  to  ordain ; 

For  on  the  columns  of  the  world  the  stars 

All  hang,  like  lamps  on  the  fair  temple-walls 

Of  dream,  —  the  dream  from  which  none  ever  wakes : 

Only  we  dream,  that  we  do  dream,  —  and  smile. 


XIV. 

Moderate  Expectations  blest. 

The  heart  of  man  moves  always  heavily. 
Here  on  the  earth  the  spirit  feels  itself 
Caught  like  a  bird  beneath  a  crystal  bell 
Wide  as  the  heavens  :    his  wishes,  his  desires 
Not  years  can  satisfy,  nor  yet  the  grave, 
From  the  far  distance  glimmering  faintly  green. 
Thus,  whoso  now  is  young  and  rich  and  fair, 
And  seems,  for  all  in  all,  a  happy  man, 
Has  growing  care  for  trifles  in  his  heart. 
And  he  who  has  to  care  for  daily  bread, 
For  wood  to  warm  his  children,  even  for 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  137 

A  sickly  child,  that  will  not  let  him  sleep 

Nor  even  weep,  he  is  the  happiest 

Of  our  unsatisfied,  insatiate  race ; 

And  above  all  huge  fears  and  huge  desires, 

Above  his  dim,  low  days,  the  good  man's  heart 

With  mild  beguiling  lifts  him  far  away. 

So  does  the  excessive  fervor  of  the  Sun 

With  all  the  over-rich  juices  of  the  earth 

In  spring  bring  forth  but  flowers  :    it  lines  the  brooks 

With  a  green  fringe  of  grass  ;   o'erspreads  the  trees 

With  blossom-snow,  —  and,  doing  so,  does  enough; 

For  moderation  always  hits  the  mark. 


XV. 

The  Value  of  the  Days. 

Hold  not,  I  pray,  thy  days  on  earth  so  cheap, 

Because  so  simply  and  so  silently, 

So  all  unknown  they  glide.     Dost  thou  thyself 

Know  them  ?     O  learn  to  know  them,  and  thy  heart 

And  mind  shall  feel,  —  their  glowing  life  within. 

Thou  dwellest  on  the  ground  of  the  old  world, 

By  the  old  loom  thou  sittest  even  now, 

And  holdest  the  full  shuttle  in  thy  hand  ; 

The  distant  mountains  send  thee  down  the  rills, 

The  river,  that  makes  green  thy  meadow-land: 

The  unseen  oceans  welter  to  and  fro 

And  send  thee  up  the  clouds,  that  visibly 

Feed  now  thy  little  pears  upon  the  trees, 

The  very  colewort  in  thy  garden-ground ; 

The  winds  from  their  far  birthplace  sweep  along 

Across  a  hundred  vales  and  lift  and  bow 


138  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thy  billowy  harvest !     Suns,  moons,  come  to  thee 

From  far,  far  deeps  full  of  primeval  bliss, 

So  near  to  thee,  even  through  thy  window-panes, 

And  darkly  shadow  out  upon  the  floor 

And  wall  thyself,  thy  children's  little  heads, 

The  heads  of  flowers,  in  lovely  images  ; 

Thou  livest  alive  with  live  ones,  who  are  thine, 

Here  in  this  seemingly  forgotten  vale, — 

And  far  back  in  the  depths  of  space  meanwhile,  — 

Stars  are  extinguished,  arches  crumble  in, 

And  through  new  seas,  new  constellations,  full 

Of  joyous  life,  glide  by  as  tranquilly 

As  fishes  in  old  meadows  swim  the  ponds ! 

My  heart,  so  small  and  insignificant 

Thy  days  are,  that  thou  should'st  with  solemn  joy 

Give  thanks  for  each  of  them  on  bended  knees. 

Yet,  teachest  thou  meanwhile  thy  little  ones, 

Providest  for  thy  house,  thinkest  pure  thoughts 

And  lovest  strangers,  giving  this  one  drink 

And  guiding  that  one  who  has  lost  his  way. — 

Then  have  thy  days  been  even  divinely  spent. 


XVI. 

Life  a  Picture. 

How  magical  the  ground  of  human  life  ! 

Far  more  ethereal  than  the  canvass,  yea, 

The  bright  enamel  for  a  Raphael's 

Transfiguration. 

Not  more  enduring  is  the  spider's  net 

Than  the  bright-gleaming  web  of  this  our  day, 

Spun  for  the  creatures  by  the  motherly  Sun, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  139 

Lightly  suspended,  lightly  shifting,  lightly 

Drawn,  like  a  veil,  aside  !     Behold  how  Spring 

Spreads  its  green  flower-embroidered  carpet  out 

Before  the  children's  eyes !     How  winter  spreads 

The  snow-white  mat  beneath  their  sportive  feet ! 

And  in  the  magic  element,  the  while, 

In  such  magician's  cave  of  the  bright  day, 

We  sit  as  spellbound,  in  a  fairy  tale, 

And  how  and  whence  we  came  here,  none  can  tell 

A  thousand  summers  since,  we  were  not  here ! 

A  thousand  autumns  hence  will  find  us  gone, 

And  now,  to-day,  so  undeniably 

We  do  exist,  so  undeniably 

Imaginary  beings :    and  our  children 

Imaginary  children  ;   and  our  homes, 

The  kingly  palaces  and  holy  temples, 

Imaginary,  legendary,  all. 

Yea,  fairy  trees,  —  no  more,  —  are  our  fresh  trees 

That  loudly  rustle  in  the  wind,  whose  fruit 

Rolls  loud  as  footsteps  down  to  me  e'en  now; 

And  the  lark's  songs  are  legendary  songs, 

A  fabulous  song  the  herdsman's  harvest-lay. 

Yon  sinking  sun  itself,  —  is  but  a  tale! 

The  wonderful  jars  not  upon  our  life, 

It  takes  no  hold,  —  I  am  a  wonder,  too ; 

It  makes  each  man  a  solemn  apparition, 

The  little  children  in  the  cradle  heavenly, 

The  days  all  brightly  marked,  the  nights  all  blest. 

The  lovely  maid  is  truly  lovely  now  ! 

Her  eye  enchantment,  and  her  love  a  blessing! 

And  even  the  bad,  the  odious  man,  himself, 

The  stone,  the  grave,  and  misery,  and  pain, 

Are  lovely  to  the  tranquil,  pious  soul, 


140  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Which  wafted  up  as  on  a  golden  flood, 

Stands  as  a  moon  of  God  in  God's  great  heaven. 


XVII. 

Enjoy  thy  Life,  not  thy  Mode  of  Life. 

Now,  in  full  blossom  stands  the  apple-tree, 

All  white  and  red,  as  if  its  blossoms  were 

The  leaves  that  lay  asleep  in  buds  of  green : 

And  lo,  the  starling  in  the  blossom-house 

Has  built  himself  a  nest  and  hatched  his  young ; 

And  now  surprised  that  from  the  little  eggs 

Such  yellow  bills  peep  forth,  and  with  loud  cries 

Of  pressing  want  so  plainly  call  him  "father!" 

He  flies  with  joy  to  find  his  children  bread. 

Was  ever  Emperor  nested  with  such  pomp 

As  is  this  starling  in  his  apple-tree, 

Which,  like  a  flower  itself,  with  taller  stalk, 

Stands  as  Earth's  fairest  flower  in  tender  green ! 

And  here,  too,  on  this  green  and  lofty  tower 

With  its  white  bell,  —  here  in  the  lily-cup 

A  golden  chafer  dwells  so  rapturously 

As  never  proudest  human  creature  dwelt 

And  what  exalts  the  chafer  above  men, — 

The  starling  with  his  wife  and  darling  brood,  — 

Is,  —  that  they  worship  not  their  dwelling-place! 

For  joy,  for  love,  for  busy  earnestness 

In  the  still,  holy  labors  of  their  lot, 

They  never  think  how  heavenly  is  their  palace, 

And  that,  because  they  dwell  there,  they  are  blest. 

O  world,  O  beauteous,  beauteous  world  of  spring, 

That  glitterest  like  a  tree  with  golden  stars, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  141 

And  bloom'st  eternal,  so  should  man  forget 

Thee,  too,  and  only  just  be  conscious  of  thee, 

For  reverence  of  his  human  work ;    then  first 

Man  lives  as  man,  —  e'en  as  the  starling  lives 

In  his  blooming  tree,  as  the  gold  chafer  lives 

Beneath  his  lily-tower's  white  cupola. 

Then  hail  to  him,  him  who  can  thus  forget 

Spring-time,  and  earth  and  sun  and  night  and  heaven ! 

For  what  divinest  treasures  that  man  knows, 

And  only  he,  who  can  so  clean  forget 

Such  gladness  of  the  eyes,  such  stir  of  beauty, 

As  if  naught  else  were  living  or  would  live 

In  all  the  far  or  near  immensity 

Than  he  alone,  he  with  his  heart,  his  love  ! 


XVIII. 
Vanity  and  Vexation  of  Spirit. 

A  private  word,  which  each  one  bears  with  him, 

Sets  a  whole  host  astir  through  countries !   war ! 

A  few  old  phrases  in  the  soul  suffice 

To  kindle  all  humanity  to  war, 

Waging  the  unbespoken  fight  of  life,  — 

A  little  piety,  a  little  wisdom, 

It  takes  at  morning  for  the  coming  day, 

As  food  and  guide,  and  very  seldom  that, 

And  so  begins  anew  such  wild  turmoil ! 

How  many  thousands  would  not  live  at  all, 

Nay,  there  lives  not  a  man,  could  bring  himself 

To  set  his  foot,  to  move  an  eye  or  hand, 

If  thought  and  judgment  had  to  do  the  work : 

Not  one  would  have  a  hair  grow  on  his  head, 


I42  THE   LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Not  one  would  have  a  heart  beat  in  his  breast, 

If  he  himself  had  to  arrange  all  that 

Which  bare  existence  needs,  to  set  in  motion, 

Say,  his  own  soul's  and  body's  organism  ; 

If  God  and  Nature  had  not  worked  for  him, 

Had  not  hung  up  the  silver  lamp  on  high, 

And  the  green  battle-field  adorned  below; 

Did  not  a  rich  humanity  live  for  him, 

Had  it  not  lived,  and  made  his  path  and  day. 

The  baggage-train  is  ever  merriest ! 

And  all  humanity  's  a  baggage-train ! 


XIX. 

Sympathy  for  every  Form  of  Human  Life. 

I  've  seen  in  hundred  places,  women,  children, 

Farms,  gardens,  houses,  horses,  cows,  and  dogs 

To  me  repulsive,  and  right  odious  all, 

And  have  thanked  God  they  belonged  not  to  me ! 

Yet  in  their  places  did  I  see  them  all 

Prized  highly,  even  loved,  and  sorely  missed! 

Only  because  I,  too,  held  dear  and  loved 

That  which  was  mine,  did  I  forbear  to  count 

Such  love  in  others  foolish  !     Look  around 

And  see  how  dear,  uniquely  prized  o'er  all 

The  wealth  of  realms,  —  things  all  unknown  to  thee, 

Scarce  noticed,  even  the  tree  before  his  house, 

Will  be  to  every  man,  there  where  he  dwells, 

And  lives  and  loves  and  knows  and  recognizes ! 

Yet  let  not  that  depreciate  thine  own  things, 

Nor  blind  thou  thine  own  self  to  them,  nay,  rather 

And  better :    with  the  worth  of  all  thou  hast 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  143 

Enhance  the  worth  of  that  which  others  have  ! 
And  if  thou  canst  do  that,  make  all  the  worth 
Of  all  the  treasures  of  the  loving  ones 
Around  thee  richly  swell  the  worth  of  thine ! 
Then  shalt  thou  haply  recognize  and  feel 
Some  part  of  what  each  human  lot  is  worth 
To  God,  and  what  it  should  be  worth  to  man. 
Yet  modestly  be  silent  thereupon. 
For  to  the  modest  good  is  magnified, 
And  beauty  glorified  a  thousand-fold, 
And  when  thou,  by  thy  modesty,  hast  thus 
Exalted  it,  then,  if  thou  canst,  at  length 
Hold  it  as  trivial,  —  human.  —  God  is  great ! 

XX. 

//  takes  all  Men  to  make  a  Man, 

A  man  is  not  the  thousandth  part  of  man. 

It  takes  the  human  race  to  make  the  man. 

In  him  resides  all  love,  in  him  all  art, 

All  knowledge.     Every  one  bequeathes  to  him 

His  private  store,  then  dies  and  leaves  it.     Each 

Takes  all  from  him,  all  his  humanity, 

And  every  single  man  is  wondrously 

Like1  to  the  whole  in  light  and  bliss  and  truth. 

So  lives  he  a  completed  man  ;    thus  all 

Live,  through  all,  as  a  human  family! 

And  each  one  when  he  dies  takes  a  whole  earth 

Away  with  him,  —  as  in  a  symphony, 

Which  all  the  hearers  played,  the  players  all 

Heard,  in  their  turn,  in  silent  rapture  drank, 

Till  every  voice,  as  each  plays  out  its  part, 

Puts  out  its  light  and  silently  goes  home. 


I44  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

,  xxi. 

Blessed  are  they  that  Mourn. 

Would'st  thou  see  weeping,  —  see  the  poor  man  weep, 

Who  verily  in  feeling  sees  himself 

Stand  weeping  in  the  sight  of  God,  —  and  smiles! 

And  so  his  tear  to  heavenly  incense  turns, 

And  his  loud  voice  grows  low  and  faint  and  choked, 

Thought  fails  him  now,  and  for  a  moment  he 

Transforms  himself  into  another  soul, 

And  whoso  sees  him  dry  his  tears,  to  him 

Ah,  holy  is  their  flow,  with  God  so  near ! 

How  rich  the  poor  man  is !     How  rich  can  he 

Make  others  !     How  much  has  he  still  to  give  ! 

—  If  he  is  not  to  give,  who  has  not  much, 

He  who  is  poor,  right  poor,  —  who  then  shall  give  ? 

Who  does  give  truly,  then  ?   if  giving  means  :  — 

That  which  thou  really  needest,  —  not  to  need, 

When,  blessing  others,  it  makes  thee  more  glad. 

Expect  not  then  such  comfort  from  the  rich, 

No,  not  from  them,  the  comfort  of  the  poor, — 

They  know  not  poverty,  nor  giving's  worth  ; 

How  he  who  would  receive,  how  he  can  give! 

So  gives  the  poor  man  only,  and  is  blest, 

How  poor  and  miserable  soe'er  he  seem. 

The  many  thousand  poor  alone  sustain 

The  many  thousand  poor,  ay,  even  the  rich 

By  their  still  services  and  poverty. 

So  is  it,  and  in  this  way  life  is  rich  ! 

And  hearts  are  rich.     And  gladly  as  I  look 

Upon  thy  tears,  I  bid  thee,  soul,  weep  not ! 

They  whom  thou  pitiest  are  more  blest  than  thou. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  145 

And  so  be  not  astonished  !   wonder  not 

At  the  long-suffering,  inexpressible 

Patience  of  the  unnumbered  tribes  of  poor, 

Who  with  the  giant-strength  of  thousand  arms, 

With  all  that  light  and  easy  play  of  power, 

Snatch  not  earth's  treasures  from  the  groaning  boards, 

Grudge  not  the  few  rich  men,  but  gladly  grant 

Life's  golden  table  gorgeously  bedight ; 

No  "blood-soiled  flesh,"  no  "oxen  of  the  Sun," 

Do  they  desire,  "that  low  upon  the  spit,"  — 

From  the  mere  wont  of  being  poor  and  strong. 

For  a  chaste  purity,  a  holy  feeling 

Of  heavenly  descent,  a  sense  of  God 

Dwells  in  the  bosom  of  poor  human  kind. 

Then  let  them  weep,  and  weep  not  thou,  O  soul : 

In  silence,  softly,  scattered  far  and  wide, 

Let  them  give  life  its  beauty  and  its  grace 

In  the  most  pure  of  ways,  as  man  beseems. 

The  individual  only  may  repent, 

The  human  race  remorse  beseemeth  not, 

But  greatness,  beauty,  worthiness,  alone  ; 

And  of  its  day  assured,  in  modest  pride, 

In  a  pure  path  it  seeks  earth's  purest  joy. 


XXII. 

War  endangers  the  Soul. 

When  thou  dost  strive  about  a  thing,  so  strive 
As  not  to  harm  the  thing  for  which  ye  strive ; 
Yet  what  is  worth  so  much  as  that  one  thing 
Which  always  is  harmed  in  men's  strife,  —  thy  soul! 
7  j 


146  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXIII. 

Recipe  for  Contentment. 

"  Say,  by  what  art  shall  I  secure  content  ? " 

As  day  is  but  a  consequence  of  the  Sun, 

So  must  contentment  be  the  effluence, 

The  clear  effulgence  of  a  sunny  soul. 

The  bride  must  first  be  wooed  and  won,  ere  thou 

Possessing  her,  wife,  mother,  children  hast. 

I  am  content,  it  seems  to  me,  if  I 

Am  in  the  same  mood  one  day  as  the  next. 

And  as  no  day  is  like  the  last,  as  each 

Loves  to  bring  something  new,  of  joy  or  woe, 

—  And  brings  it  up,  too,  out  of  our  own  breast, — 

I  must  feel  tranquil,  and  for  that  secure  ; 

Must  stand  serene  in  all  the  ceaseless  change, 

Must  therefore  bear  within  me  something  higher 

Than  aught  the  hour  can  bring  or  take  away ; 

I  must  possess  the  soul's  supremest  bliss, 

A  spotless  heart  and  love  for  all  that  lives. 

With  this  one  feeling  evermore  the  same, 

With  these  unchangeably  beholding  eyes, 

I  can  accept,  —  I  can  reject  the  world, 

Endure  it,  set  my  heart  on  it,  —  against  it; 

What  happens  round  about  me,  —  in  myself, — 

Can  guide  to  good,  can  mildly  conquer,  bless. 

I  must  press  onward  to  a  great,  glad  mark, 

Wrhich  time's  events  give  me  dim  glimpses  of, 

Scarce  show,  but  daily  urge  me  to  pursue  ! 

The  conflict,  too,  is  half  the  victory, 

And  where  the  deed  falls  short,  the  will  makes  good. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  147 

Once  hear  and  do  with  all  thy  heart  the  word : 
I  am  a  man,  —  and  thou  wilt  be  content. 


XXIV. 
Man  writes  his  Life  for  Eternity. 

Had  it  been  given  me  to  write  down  my  life 
Or  only  its  beginning,  but  two  lines, 
Upon  a  solid  tablet  of  pure  gold, 
How  had.  I  paused!   how  pondered  o'er  the  task 
But  even  now,  as  children  on  their  slates 
Write  what  is  easily  effaced,  each  man 
Writes  with  light  hand  but  ineffaceably 
His  life  upon  the  heavy  mass  of  days 
That  towers  behind  us,  dark,  immovable, 
An  up-piled  cloudy  wall  —  of  adamant, 
Infrangible,  more  solid  than  mere  gold; 
He  writes  it,  as  a  fate,  on  human  hearts, 
He  writes  it  on  his  own  with  iron  pen  ! 
Then,  writer !    think,  create,  engrave  with  care  ! 
The  lullaby  we  sing  the  cradled  child 
Preludes  a  picture  of  his  coming  days ! 


XXV. 

Fight  against  the  Wrong  thou  doest,  not  receivest. 

What  sorrow  smites  thee  at  Fate's  hand,  endure ! 
What  wrong  befalls  thee  at  men's  hands,  forgive, 
However  heavy  it  may  be,  forgive, 
As  a  sure  help,  and  noble.     For  to  fight 
Against  it,  though  't  were  noble,  were  as  vain 


148  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  as  impossible,  as  to  fight  against 

The  arrow  shot  off  yesterday,  and  makes 

Wretched  indeed,  sufferer  and  doer  both. 

Only  against  the  wrong  which  he  himself 

Has  done,  —  would  do,  —  let  man  life-long  contend. 


XXVI. 
Contemplation  of  the  Dead. 

The  bell's  sad  stroke  that  tolls  the  funeral  hour 

Is,  among  all  this  feverish  world's  alarms, 

The  last  that  ever  can  disturb  the  dead. 

Henceforth  he  lies  unmoved,  forever  still, 

Amidst  this  loud,  tumultuous  roar  of  life, 

As  the  pale  sleeper  on  the  field  of  fight. 

He  is  far  hence,  yet  seems  still  near,  like  moonlight. 

His  soul  is  near,  yet  seems  remote,  like  stars. 

Thus  is  man  buried,  —  as  a  drop  in  the  sea, 

As  the  faint  streak  of  dawn  in  sunrise-glow, 

Even  as  a  sand-grain  in  the  mighty  waste. 

O  soul!   thou  poor,  poor  child,  how  lonesomely 

Thou  far'st,  a  pilgrim,  through  the  mighty  realm 

Of  life !     So  solitary  art  thou  born 

Here  on  the  earth  ;   so  all  forlorn  thou  tread'st 

Thy  solitary,  dark,  and  dismal  path, 

As  the  dark  moon  moves  onward  to  new  light, 

Where  it  will  burst  upon  thine  eyes  ;   when  thou 

Like  a  slave-child  shalt  be  once  more  brought  home 

Into  a  hut !    nathless  thou  faintest  not, 

Art  here  and  there  with  beings,  who,  like  thee, 

All  lonely,  yearn  to  thee  and  thou  to  them, 

By  naught  attracted  and  by  naught  consoled, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


149 


And  blest  by  naught,  —  except  by  love  alone! 

Then  whoso  hates,  he  is  alone!  for  he 

Shuts  himself  out  from  this  great  realm  of  life ; 

That  man  must  have  more  than  the  power  of  God 

To  draw  henceforth  another  breath  of  joy, 

Whereas  love's  fount  has  power  with  one  sole  draught 

To  make  the  poorest  life  and  longest  rich 

And  fill  its  parting  dreams  with  endless  bliss. 


XXVII. 

Sorrow  a  Treasure-pointer. 

There,  where  a  sorrow  comes  upon  thee,  where 

Thy  tears  are  made  to  flow,  there  certainly 

A  treasure  lies  awaiting  thee,  which  shall 

Richly  repay  thy  sorrow  and  thy  tears ; 

Some  true  thing  hast  thou  there  to  find,  some  thing 

Of  beauty  there  to  see,  some  good  to  do, 

Some  wrong  to  right;   or  at  the  very  least 

Thou  hast  the  fairest  recompense  of  all  : 

To  learn  what  life  is  and  to  try  thy  heart, 

And  freshly,  freely,  to  look  out  on  heaven ! 

Thy  very  tears  shall  open  wide  thine  eyes, 

Thy  very  sorrows  shall  wake  up  thy  heart; 

Then  mark  the  heavenly  signals,  —  and  be  glad ! 

And  where  thou  sufferest,  feel  a  joy  to  come! 

In  woe  be  glad,  glad  of  the  very  woe, 

That  thou  canst  prove  by  it  thy  happiness, 

Strength,  wisdom,  love,  tranquillity,  and  toil! 

Then,  and  not  till  then,  art  thou  truly  man: 

Then  is  thy  happiness  a  steadfast  thing. 

So  shall  thy  spirit  lightly  bear  the  pain 


1 50  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

That  Nature  gave  thee  for  its  health.     How  blest 
Is  he  who  only  wills  that  which  is  good ! 


XXVIII. 

Day  is  a  Part  of  the  great  Night. 

The  blaze  of  day  is  also  but  a  night, 

The  one  great  holy  night  that  reigns  through  space ; 

The  very  Sun  in  heaven  is  but  the  lamp 

That  proves  it,  with  those  thousand  lamps  hung  up 

From  the  necessity  of  driving  back 

Darkness,  and  yet  the  Sun  fears  not  the  night, 

Which  seems  to  come  each  morn  .so  near  to  him. 

He  will  be  surely  there!     Will  be  himself! 

And  thou,  O  man,  thou  wearest  on  thy  breast, 

Just  as  the  miner  in  the  mine-shaft's  night 

Wears  his  bright  safety-lamp,  a  still  more  bright, 

An  inextinguishable  lamp  with  thee  ; 

And  dost  thou  shudder  at  the  gloom  that  lies 

Upon  thy  way  out  in  the  distance  there, 

Which  thou  alone  must  pierce  ?  —  Be  of  good  cheer  ! 

And  though  it  were  the  gloom  of  death  itself, 

Yet  step  by  step  and  even  in  the  light, 

As  here,  so  wilt  thou  reach  that  stage  at  last, 

And  each  will  be  made  bright  to  thee,  e'en  death, 

The  grave,  and  where,  beyond,  thy  road  may  lead. 

Thou  wilt  be  surely  there!   wilt  be  thyself! 

And  how  much  more  at  every  stage  of  life, 

E'en  in  dark  hours  of  pain  and  melancholy, 

All  way  of  refuge  seemingly  cut  off, 

Wilt  thou  be  present  with  thy  soul,  thy  light, 

And  clearly  see,  by  the  strength  given  to  thee  ! 

Then  courage  !     Come  what  will,  —  Thou  comest  too  ! 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  151 

XXIX. 

Lesson  of  the  young  Apple-tree. 

Scarce  had  I  planted  me  an  apple-tree, 

Scarce  had  the  stones  grown  quiet  at  its  foot, 

Scarce  had  the  tender  fibres  of  the  root 

Been  covered  now  with  earth,  and  the  young  stem 

With  willow-twigs  bound  to  the  firm-set  stake, 

Scarce  had  the  tree  stood  up,  as  born  full-grown, 

As  brought  by  magic  'mong  its  sister-trees, 

Filling  a  small  space  only  with  its  crown, — 

When  lo!   a  finch  came  gliding  down  along 

Its  budding  boughs  as  one  familiar  there, 

And  trilled  his  old  song  on  the  youngest  twig! 

At  morn  a  spider  had  already  hung 

Thereon  her  net,  so  fine  and  delicate! 

And  had  the  spinner  been  a  god,  he  could  not 

Have  woven  more  finely,  more  artistically! 

And  if  the  spark  of  dew  had  been  the  god, 

He  could  not  on  the  twig  have  gleamed  more  bright! 

And  had  the  apple-tree  itself  been  God, 

Not  finer  purple  snow  could  he  have  bloomed ! 

But  the  finch  came  and  trilled,  as  yesterday 

He  trilled!   and  will  for  ay!     His  little  tree 

Already  was  an  aged  thing  to  him! 

—  Then  said  I  to  my  spirit,  deeply  shamed: 

What  would'st  thou  be,  how  sweetly  innocent 

And  happy,  wiser  than  the  greatest  men, 

If  thou  could'st  only  do  as  this  bird  does! 

Were  the  clear  sun  so  wholly  thine  of  old, 

Were  the  old  earth  to  thee  so  ever  young, 

So  lightly  trod,  enjoyed  so  on  the  wing, 


152 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


The  human  race  and  all  its  life,  so  full, 

Complete,  abundant,  and  soul-satisfying; 

Its  fresh  existence  ever  in  the  bloom 

Of  pristine  beauty  and  eternal  youth, 

Its  knowledge,  intuition,  feeling,  art, — 

And  did'st  thou,  like  the  bird,  sing  primitive  songs, 

And  like  the  spider  spin  a  master's  works, 

And  like  the  young  tree  from  thy  earliest  bud 

Put  forth,  with  godlike  ease  and  gracefulness, 

The  fair  and  fragrant  bloom  of  purple  snow ! 

—  And  my  blest  spirit  whispered  low  to  me, 

How  far,  indeed,  lives  man  from  the  divine ! 

For,  did  he  feel  God  near  him  !   livingly ! 

Like  God  would  he  create,  —  as  dew  from  water! 

Like  God  would  shape  things,  —  as  the  blooming  tree! 


XXX. 

Study  God's  Poem. 

O  then  that  one  might  shape  a  living  poem 

As  God  does  in  his  work,  this  beauteous  world! 

That  one  might  so  project  all  into  life, 

An  actual,  a  life-generating  life, 

That  one  might  so  spread  out  his  thought-filled  soul, 

More  living  than  a  robe  from  Persia's  looms, 

Whereon  each  rose  nectarean  fragrance  breathes, 

Each  nightingale  throbs  out  enchanting  trills, 

The  blushing  mountains  purple  clusters  crown, 

The  vine-dressers  sing  gayly  as  they  pass, 

And  glowing  with  a  little  new-made  wine 

The  rosy  child  sleeps  sweetly  in  the  shade  ! 

O  that  one  had  such  colors  and  such  stuffs ! 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  153 

Such  lofty  art!  and  such  a  soul  withal 
As  the  old  pious  master's  childlike  soul ! 

Ah,  vain  and  idle  wish !  ask  but  for  eyes ! 
Thou  need'st  but  eyes  rightly  to  see  his  work, 
A  soul,  a  soul  to  understand  it  all, 
A  heart  to  feel  it  simply  as  it  is, — 
How  will  the  loving  soul  thrill  through  thee  then 
Which  he  has  breathed  into  the  eternal  work, 
Into  the  beauteous  face  of  man  and  flower! 
How  wilt  thou  feel  the  high  morality 
The  patience  and  the  truth,  that  lives  in  all, 
That  even  the  cloud  and  rain-drop  exercise, 
The  brook-side  flower  and  every  blade  of  grass. 
Truth  is  the  very  basis  of  his  world, 
And  all  things  show  just  what  they  are  ;   the  lark 
Sings  honestly  just  what  is  in  her  heart, 
The  violet  exhales,  the  lily  breathes, 
From  its  pure  cup  as  God  has  bidden  it, 
And  not  a  leaflet's  tell-tale  tongue  tells  lies ! 
Not  one  of  all  the  fairest  of  the  works 
With  vain  complacency  exalts  itself, 
But  each  the  master  only  glorifies, 
Although  the  peacock  shows  his  gorgeous  wheel, 
And  sets  yon  sun  in  like  magnificence, 
And  in  the  rosy  wheel  stars  show  themselves,  — 
They  come  forth  with  soft  step,  and  patiently 
Let  the  first  night  cloud  sweep  them  from  the  sight ! 
And  over-night  a  thousand  blooming  flowers 
Fade  gracefully  without  the  slightest  sound, 
And,  even  when  faded,  clothed  in  touching  charms, 
Bow  their  meek  heads  contentedly  to  earth. 
But  it  beseemeth  man  to  understand 


154 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


What  God  doth  speak  out  loudly  through  his  works. 

And  when  thou  comprehendest  it,  dear  soul, 

Then  go,  and  do  thou  too  compose  a  work, — 

If  thou  hast  courage  for  it,  pious  soul. 

But  suffer  me  a  little  longer  yet, 

To  gaze,  in  holy  contemplation  blest, 

Till  holy  sleep  sinks  down  upon  my  eyes, 

Till  my  cold  hand  in  wonder  folded  close 

Not  my  best  friend  shall  longer  loose,  nor  shall, 

Absorbed  in  blissful  wonder  at  me  dead, 

And  awe  of  God,  wish  any  more  to  loose ! 


XXXI. 

Self-possession. 

Precisely  as  man  never  saw  himself, 

Never  possessed  and  understood  himself, 

As  an  arrested,  fixed,  imprisoned  fact, 

So  Nature  has  him  !     So  Humanity  ! 

As  man  complete,  and  even  as  man  scarce-born 

As  child,  as  man,  old  man,  and  dead  man,  too ; 

And  not  his  trees,  his  children,  and  his  house 

Alone  does  he  possess, —just  as  one  may 

The  shells  of  the  pearl  mussel  and  great  roof 

Of  the  sea-tortoise,  —  or  what  he  has  wrought, 

Just  as  one  may  the  silk-worm's  web  entire, 

No  !     Genii-like  she  has  his  very  self, 

Just  as  the  earth  possesses  still  the  Sun's 

Image  and  power  and  life,  when  he  has  set. 

And  out  of  the  unnumbered  genii 

Of  the  departed  ones  a  realm  is  formed, 

A  bright,  fair  kingdom  of  the  dead  on  earth, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  155 

In  daylight,  visible  to  the  soul's-eye 

Of  all ;   accessible  to  every  one 

Of  earth's  new-comers,  —  like  a  heaven  below, 

A  hall  of  gods  and  an  assembly-house 

In  the  light-realm  of  Suns,  as  formerly 

The  genii,  all,  sat  in  the  realm  of  spirits. 

And  therefore,  as  there  are  more  days  than  suns, 

So  live  there  far  more  genii  of  the  dead 

Than  the  one  multitude  of  living  men, 

And  whoso  treads  humanity's  hall  of  gods, 

Of  heavenly  spirits,  as  a  living  man, 

Enters  their  heavenly  society ; 

On  him  they  pour  out  all  their  stores  of  wealth, 

He  is  made  king  o'er  all  the  genii, 

He  lives  among  them  in  the  realm  of  light, 

A  spirit  and  a  ruler  over  spirits, 

He  is  a  judge  as  of  the  under  world, 

A  servant,  too,  as  of  the  highest  world ; 

And  whate'er  names  of  whate'er  Genii 

Thou  ever  nam'st  of  highest,  fairest,  richest, 

Still  is  the  very  beggar  king  of  them, 

And  every  king  is  but  their  minister,  — 

And  evermore  on  earth  this  mystery  holds 

A  patent,  undeniable,  visible  sway. 

And  so  wilt  thou,  then,  godlike,  pure,  immortal, 

And  mighty,  join  thee  to  the  Genii. 

And  every  man  is  one  day  taken  up 

Into  their  silent  realm,  to  live  as  they. 

Yet  hear  thou  also  now  the  solemn  word : 

As  thou  hast  never  once  possest  thyself, 

So  dost  thou  still  possess  in  this  thy  life, 

Nature  and  life,  God  and  humanity, 

As  Nature,  life,  God  and  humanity 


156  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Have  never  seen,  will  never  know  themselves ! 

Thus  hast  thou  even  here  with  such  divine, 

Such  singular  power  girded  thee,  O  man, 

To  live  a  singularly  beauteous  life 

In  thine  own  spirit,  in  thy  human  form, 

As  never  yet  the  universe  possessed, 

As  ne'er  has  seen  or  felt  the  universe, 

So  long  as  heaven  existed,  while  heaven  stands. 

To  be  one's  own,  and  be  unique  forever, 

As  every  man  and  every  violet  is, 

That  is  the  eternal  triumph  of  the  all ! 

And  the  denial  of  its  strength  and  love 

Is  its  most  glorious  Epiphany ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

JUNE. 


JUNE. 

I.  Rejoice  in  Tribulation. 

II.  Joy  in  Sorrow. 

III.  The  Strength  of  Tenderness. 

IV.  Greatness  of  Little  Things. 
V.  The  Sceptic's  Laugh  rebuked. 

VI.  Man's  Helplessness. 

VII.  The  Greatness  of  Manhood. 

VIII.  Why  are  Partings  hard  ? 

IX.  Not  to  be  unhappy  is  Happiness. 

X.  Honor  Beauty  and  Goodness  everywhere. 

XL  Oil  on  the  Waves. 

XII.  Everything  beautiful  in  its  Place. 

XIII.  That  which  is  unseen  is  eternal. 

XIV.  The  Expressiveness  of  Silence. 
XV.  The  Euthanasy  of  a  Day. 

XVI.  Learn  Wisdom  from  the  World. 

XVII.  Man  never  knows  himself  till  the  End. 

XVIII.  Wherein  shall  Man  live  ? 

XIX.  Add  to  Goodness  Beauty  and  Joy. 

XX.  The  three  Sacred  Rights  of  Man. 

XXI.  The  Creature's  Gifts  often  his  Ruin. 

XXII.  Divine  Consolation  for  the  Erring. 

XXIII.  The  Aged  Sceptic  at  the  Grave. 

XXIV.  The  Lost  Child  on  the  Alps. 
XXV.  The  Temple  of  Dream. 

XXVI.  The  Divinity  of  Man. 

XXVII.  The  Rich  Man  and  Sleep. 

XXVIII.  God  All  in  All. 

XXIX.  God's  Use  of  Man's  Faults. 

XXX.  The  Aims  of  Man. 


JUNE. 


Rejoice  in  Tribulation. 

HE  life  of  mortals  seems  so  hard,  so  bitter, 
So  full  of  toil ;   and  so  indeed  it  is  ; 
And  yet  in  seeming  only !   not  in  truth. 
That  man  beside  the  anvil,  forges  long 
With  heavy  hammers  and  with  heavy  blows, — 
The  sweat  still  trickling  from  his  brow,  he  goes, 
The  iron  in  the  tongs,  —  and  shoes  a  horse 
For  the  gay  rider  there,  who  sings  his  song, 
And  merrily  mounts  to  bid  the  wedding  guests  ! 
The  weaver  works  till  far  into  the  night 
And  weaves  with  painful  toil  —  fair  table-spreads 
For  many  a  joyous  feast !     The  song  that  oft, 
The  while  he  wrought,  against  his  will,  has  made 
His  heart  to  swell,  —  it  was  life's  joyous  spirit, 
That  visited,  looked  on  him  smilingly, 
And  through  him  sang !     He  by  the  furnace  there, 
Hot  with  the  glow,  —  blows  many  a  glass  for  wine! 
This  other,  stooping  oft,  digs  out  the  earth, 
And  sets  the  cherry-tree  for  happy  children, 
Who  standing  round,  look  on  and  beg  him  plant 
One  more,  only  one  more  :     "  Dear  Father,  do  ! 
And  apples,  too,  for  the  long  winter-time!" 
And  is  the  man  now  tired? — See,  he  digs 
Still  more  !    and  in  his  pains  feels  pleasure  still. 


160  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

So  lovely  is  the  sense  of  life !     None  toils 

So  mere  a  drudge  that  from  his  labor  joy 

And  welfare  do  not  spring  for  one,  for  one ! 

So  to  her  cells  laboriously  the  bee 

The  virgin  honey  bears.     Yet  she  herself 

In  the  sweet  spring-time  sipped  it!     From  the  flowers 

She  bore  it  a  sweet  morsel  in  her  mouth  ! 

Man  's  not  an  axe !    a  hammer !   or  a  spade ! 

He  is  a  heart,  that  feels  for  what  he  toils 

The  livelong  day,  and  through  this  holy  life ! 

And  e'en  the  ox  that  for  the  farmer  ploughs 

The  furrow,  understands  the  holy  power. 

His  holy  voice  has  in   its  cry,  who  is 

The  sire  of  many  children  :    and  behold, 

Though  weary,  willing,  ploughs  his  acre  through. 

And  whoso  tires  himself,  has  done  it,  sure, 

For  one  he  loves,  who  makes  the  busy  work 

An  aspiration,  not  a  stint,  a  goal ! 

And  every  golden  evening  brings  to  each 

The  twilight-holiday  !    the  lovely  hour 

When  he  has  done  enough  for  to-day,  and  now 

Can  come  back  to  his  dear  ones,  —  to  himself, — 

And  rest  and  live  ;   and  feel  the  hours  thrice  sweet 

After  such  toil.     So  sweet,  how  sweet  the  kernel 

Of  the  world  is !     So  loving  is  a  God ! 

That  to  man's  joy  he  adds  the  pleasant  dream 

That  he  is,  nay,  creates  somewhat  himself 

When  he  is  but  a  child,  who,  by  free  grace, 

Receives  from  Heaven  that  thing  which  he  creates. 

And  each  may  quickly  prove  his  life  hereby: 

Who  finds  not  pleasure  in  his  work,  has  none, 

Not  one,  he  loves !     And  no  one  who  loves  him ; 

Else  would  he  certainly  love  others  too! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  161 

His  aim  is  evil !     For  he  seeks  his  own, 

His  private  pleasure  and  his  private  gain, 

His  pleasure  heaps  up  for  him  woe  on  woe. 

And  would'st  thou  work  with  gladness,  thou  must  love 

Some  one  somewhere,  —  and  happy  wilt  thou  be, 

Even  in  the  troubles  life  brings,  —  only  then 

Completely  blest,  without  them  only  half! 


ii. 

Joy  in  Sorrow. 

Heart,  trust  thyself,  and  this  one  thing  believe  : 
That  joy  is  hid  in  sorrow,  life  in  death, 
In  suffering,  love,  riches  in  poverty, — 
Know  this,  and  happier  shall  it  be  with  thee ! 
Yonder  they  bear  a  little  playmate  home, 
Who  has  been  sorely  wounded  in  the  head, 
While  playing  ball.     Forth  his  pale  mother  runs 
Shrieking.     He  bleeds.     Her  kisses  also  stain 
Her  lips  with  blood.     She  sets  him  on  his  feet, 
The  little  boy  stands  staggering.     Now  he  knows 
His  mother.     See,  he  smiles.     And  she  with  joy 
Clasps  him,  and  taking  comfort  bears  him  home. 
And  yet  I  know  that  this  poor  mother  has  not 
A  loaf  at  home  ;   that  the  poor  little  one 
Owns  not  his  ball,  but  only  borrowed  it ! 
But  she  cares  now  for  nothing  save  the  fate 
Of  that  one  child ;    and  more  than  rich  in  him, 
Has  put  all  other  treasures  far  from  thought ! 
And  at  this  moment  only  feels  for  pain, 
With  love ;   yea,  love  alone  is  all  she  feels. 
Riches  are  naught  and  poverty  is  naught, 


1 62  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Naught  is  but  love,  —  that  feels  with  glad  and  grieved, 
All  else  is  darkness,  all  else  misery. 


in. 

The  Strength  of  Tenderness. 

My  child  !     Thou  hast  a  dread  of  being  good 

In  such  a  world,  in  such  a  swarm  of  men ; 

When  a  good  work  is  to  be  done,  each  counts 

Without  a  question,  in  advance,  on  thee ! 

Thou  seemest  to  thyself  to  be  a  reed, 

A  green  twig  by  the  way,  each  child  may  pluck; 

A  sheep,  a  good  dog,  teased  by  boys,  and  driven, 

Whither  they  will ;   drowned  in  the  pond,  perchance ! 

Whoso  plays  with  the  cat,  with  him  the  cat 

Plays  too,  the  dog,  the  man,  the  demigod ; 

Thou  followest  only  one,  in  following  all ; 

Thou  mindest  one,  when  thou  art  minding  all, 

Thou  dost  but  one  thing,  though  thou  doest  much. 

And  is  thy  work,  because  so  still,  no  work  ? 

Is  not  the  pyramid's  base  invisible  ? 

It  seems  not  there,  an  idle,  useless  thing, — 

And  it  alone  bears  dumbly  the  whole  load 

Up  to  the  topmost  stone,  with  restless  force, 

With  busy,  restless,  tense,  defiant  force. 

So  thy  still  spirit  bears  the  whole  world's  weight. 

Sleep  looses  from  thy  neck  the  yoke  of  toil, 

The  softly  gliding,  tender  web  of  sleep ! 

And  need  I  tell  thee  of  the  might  that  dwells 

In  tenderness  ?     'T  is  Nature's  chiefest  strength  ; 

Only  the  tenderest  is  not  to  be  torn  ! 

Thy  spirit  is  more  delicate  than  the  ether,  — 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  163 

And  lo  !   the  air  evades  the  nimblest  blow ; 

The  thunder  hurls  his  bolts  at  it  in  vain ! 

Like  to  a  goddess  it  defies  all  wounds, 

Still  stands  before  him,  and  its  laugh  rings  out 

Over  his  death  through  all  the  vales  and  glens ! 

And  who  can  overtake  thy  soul  ?     Lay  hands 

Upon  it?     Who  can  crush  it,  shatter  it? 

The  infant  in  his  cradle  cannot  speak, 

And  yet  his  very  look,  one  little  glance 

That  scarcely  dares  flit  o'er  his  little  face, 

Shall  move  the  mother,  stir  up  all  the  house ! 

Two  friends  stand,  sundered  by--the  roaring  sea, 

Each  on  his  lonely  shore  ;   yet  naught  on  earth 

Can  rend  the  bond  that  binds  the  twain  in  one, — 

The  tender  look,  that,  shot  from  eye  to  eye, 

Saw  joyfully  the  man  in  each  ;    the  low, 

The  tender  word  :    "  I  love  thee  evermore  !  " 

And  thou,  my  child,  thou  stand'st  here  on  the  shore 

Of  earth,  and  over  yonder  there  stands  God, 

Thy  friend,  the  other  side  the  broad  blue  sea ; 

Thy  call  can  scarcely  reach  him  ;    thou  must  die, 

And  so  pass  over  to  him,  —  and  yet  who 

Could  e'er  blot  out  his  look  in  thee,  thy  low, 

Thy  tender  word  :    "  I  love  thee  evermore  ! " 

My  child,  the  silent  power  is  terrible  : 

More  than  the  threatening  thunder-cloud  in  Heaven, 

And  never  let  the  bad  man  tempt  it  forth  ! 

For  as  the  good  man  loves,  so  hates  he  too, 

Hates  crime,  hates  all  things  evil  terribly, 

Invincibly,  invulnerably,  despite 

All  weapons  and  all  poisons  earth  can  yield  ! 

My  child,  so  fear  not  therefore  to  be  good, 

To  be  a  sheep,  a  good  dog,  whom  boys  tease ! 


1 64  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

IV. 

Greatness  of  Little  Things. 

The  smallest  thing  thou  canst  accomplish  well, 

The  smallest,  ill.     'T  is  only  little  things 

Make  up  the  present  day,  make  up  all  days, 

Make  up  thy  life.     Do  thou  not  therefore  wait, 

Keeping  thy  wisdom  and  thy  honesty, 

Till  great  things  come  with  trumpet-heraldings ! 

To  each  direct  thy  undivided  nature, 

Thy  whole  heart,  mind,  «and  soul,  all  love  and  truth. 

The  stamp  which  thou  hast  set  on  each,  thou  seest, 

It  shall  one  day  come  back  to  thee  again, 

As  old  coins  come,  each  from  its  several  age, 

Bearing  thy  image,  and  make  glad  thy  heart ! 

So  does  the  Sun  on  every  smallest  flower 

Bend  his  whole  energy,  —  a  little  while; 

Earth  lends  it  all  her  force,  for  a  brief  space, 

And  each  rewards  her  care  with  beauteous  bloom ! 

And  so  she  conquers,  day  by  day,  the  year. 

He  who  has  only  gained  the  day,  has  gained 

The  battle  !     Do  thou  gain  the  moments,  man ! 

For  when  thou  hast  subdued  unto  thyself 

Each  moment,  thou  hast  won  the  whole  of  life ! 

Hast  made  the  whole  of  life  a  beauteous  thing ! 

Made  time's  enormous  burden  light  to  thee  ! 

So  chip  by  chip,  the  child  bears  off  a  tree  ! 

Life  is  not  heavy  to  the  ever-good! 

To  him  alone  who  is  but  seldom  good, 

Or  only  often  good,  is  all  a  snarl, 

As  to  the  weaver  who  has  dropped  asleep! 

Life  is  so  light  when  man  is  always  good ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  165 

v. 

The  Sceptic's  Laugh  rebuked. 

"  Earth  is  not  worthy  of  one  serious  thought ! " 

Thou  say'st  without  the  sense  and  glow  of  life ; 

And  yet  there  's  Beauty  here !  —  That  thou  must  needs 

With  deep  and  solemn  earnestness  revere. 

He  who  can  laugh  in  mockery  at  a  flower, 

Can  laugh  to  scorn  a  loved  one's  beauteous  face, 

Is  blind,  is  heartless,  or  completely  crazed  ! 

And  yet  the  Good  is  here!  —  That  canst  thou  never 

Make  light  of,  to  neglect  at  any  time, 

That  summons  in  good  earnest  all  thy  strength, 

Be  thou  unhappy,  happy,  young,  or  old, 

Or  on  thy  death-bed,  —  't  is  an  idle  word : 

"  Earth  is  unworthy  of  all  serious  thought ! " 

For  where  mind  is,  be  beauty,  love  its  thought! 

And  yet  the  Truth  is  here !  —  Thou  wilt  not  laugh, 

When  once  it  seizes  on  thee,  wretched  fool. 

To  hold  the  great  in  small  account,  is  small ; 

To  feel  the  little  to  be  great,  is  great. 

In  sooth,  the  spirit  that  fills  the  ethereal  round, 

That  breathes  and  lives  and  loves  and  feels,  as  here, 

In  the  least  creature  on  the  furthest  star, 

Cannot  be  small.     I  never  heard  from  Heaven 

Loud  laughter  shake  the  stillness  of  the  night ! 

Never  from  out  earth's  caverns  have  I  heard 

Mysterious  voices  laughing  at  our  earth  ! 

And  wilt  thou  dare  up  at  that  Heaven  to  laugh 

And  at  that  earnest,  calm,  and  silent  Spirit  ? 

Lo!   every  little  flower  God  magnifies 

With  solemn  stillness,  holy  earnestness, 


1 66  THE   LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

He  shapes  each  blossom,  every  blade  of  grass, 

And  seems  as  if  he  stood  before  the  pink, 

Not  yet  content  till  he  had  faithfully 

Traced  on  it  every  stripe  and  every  point 

Where  do  we  see  thee  show  such  diligence 

And  such  devoutness  in  thy  works,  thou  man  ! 

And  wilt  thou  laugh  at  God  as  at  a  child 

That  busily  paints  flowers  for  his  mother, 

And  weeps  when  thou  hast  spoiled  a  leaf?     For  him 

The  work  of  childhood  is  made  great  by  love  ; 

So  God  doth  magnify  child  and  everything, 

And  every  day  and  moment,  each  to  Him 

Is  blissful,  weighty,  precious,   and  unique. 

Because  He  is  so  great,  He  feels  all  great, 

And  looks  upon  the  glint  of  dust  as  suns. 

And  thou  wilt  look  on  suns  as  glittering  dust, 

And  on  this  earth  as  on  a  children's  ball ! 

I  therefore,  could  I  ever  scorn,  would  say : 

Thou  earth-worm,  miserably  hollow  dream, 

Ungodly  is  the  beggar  who  derides 

The  staff  that  props  his  steps,  derides  the  child, 

That  gives  him  with  his  hand  the  crust  of  bread. 

Ungodly  is  the  king  who  ridicules 

The  sceptre  in  his  hand  ;    who  will  not  make 

The  people  prosperous  and   blest  so  far 

As  love  and  human  understanding  can, 

And  yearns  to  have  them ;    as  the  human  race 

—  The  flock  of  God,  —  is  worthy  to  be  made; 

Ungodly  he  who  staring  up  into 

Heaven's  vault,  will  wait  in  idle  wretchedness,  — 

Wait  till  this  earth  has  vanished  silently, 

Like  to  a  drop  of  water,  like  a  mote 

That  plays  in  sunlight, — and  will  then  begin 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  167 

To  wish  and  hope,  create  and  execute 

Good  for  himself  and  for  the  human  race, 

There  where  it  is  no  more,  and  he  no  more 

As  man  !  —  A  holy  awe  comes  over  me  ; 

Here,  here  is  God !     Here  is  the  earth !     And  here 

Is  man!     Here  build,  O  man,  the  Kingdom 

Of  God.     For  this  He  made  Himself  a  man, 

For  this  alone  He  daily  comes  on  earth, 

For  this  alone  He  gives  thee  now  His  eyes, 

His  thoughts,  His  spirit,  power,  and  nature  gives, — 

Nay,  see,  He  is  the  All  itself  in  you. 

And  now,  then,  rest  thee  not,  till  everything 

Perfected  is,  and  stands  upon  the  earth, 

Born  visibly  of  the  spirit,  as  a  child 

Out  of  its  mother's  womb,  —  held  in  her  lap! 

And  never  more  in  laughter  say  the  word : 

"  Earth  is  unworthy  of  all  serious  thought ! 

Thy  native  land  and  every  native  land, 

Thy  house  and  yard,  thy  field  and  meadow-ground, 

And  every  stalk  thereon  and  every  tree 

Within  thy  garden,  every  child  therein, 

Thy  wife  and  thou  thyself,  thy  life,  thy  soul !  " 


VI. 

Man's  Helplessness. 

Among  all  creatures  the  most  helpless  one 
Appears  to  thee,  no  doubt,  the  new-born  child, 
More  than  the  little  daughter  of  the  lamb, 
Just  standing  in  the  grass  and  nibbling  flowers  ! 
More  helpless  than  the  little  darling  bee 
Whom  buzzing  brothers  and  sisters  sweetly  feed 


168  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

With  golden  blood  of  flowers  and  violets'  hearts ! 
Yet  who  is  richer  than  the  human  child 
Through  mother's  love,  and  the  fair  human  bond? 
The  little  bed  and  dress  lay  ready  for  him, 
Long,  long  ere  yet  the  little  guest  appeared. 
And  would'st  thou  call  man  heir  of  misery, 
Because  so  many  hardships  fence  him  round  ? 
Because  he  haunts  the  earth,  a  looker-on  ? 
Because  he  feels  the  pangs  of  death  and  parting ; 
Which  pass,  unfelt,  in  silence  o'er  the  flowers  ? 
The  flowers,  —  that  know  not  tears,  but  only  dew ! 
Yea,  thou  hast  said  :    he  is  a  looker-on ! 
There  lives  in  him  the  wise  eye  of  the  world, 
In  him  the  sense  and  joy  and  peace  of  God, 
For  him  too,  as  a  guest,  is  all  prepared 
In  life,  and  none  e'er  failed  to  find  his  grave; 
And  trulier  than  a  mother  once  at  night 
Watched  with  low  lullaby  her  darling's  sleep, 
Up  yonder  the  good  Spirit  watches  him. 


VII. 

The  Greatness  of  Manhood. 

Intelligence  is  worth  the  pains  it  costs ; 

A  heart  informed,  a  spirit  full  of  light, 

Shall  make  the  world  and  all  its  treasures  thine  ! 

Clear  understanding  is  abiding  gain 

And  makes  the  longest  life  serene  and  fair; 

The  sun  that  has  arisen  within  the  mind 

Descends  not  till  a  late  and  still  old  age ; 

What  thou  hast  learned  goes  with  thee  all  life  long, 

Whither  thou  goest,  as  a  cultured  friend, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  169 

And  gives  thee  new  perceptions  for  the  world, 
Acquaints  thee  with  it,  even  as  with  thy  wife. 
A  heart  in  life's  fresh  morning  early  decked, 
A  mind,  in  youthful  days  made  sweetly  wise, 
Is  like  the  fruit-tree.     Planted  once  for  all, 
Spring  after  spring  it  puts  new  blossoms  forth, 
And  autumn  after  autumn  bears  new  fruit. 
Be  wise  betimes  !    that  thou  may'st  be  a  man 
The  sooner,  surer,  in  the  good  old  way. 
Upon  life's  threshold,  in  the  days  of  youth, 
Man's  errors  are  the  greatest,  longest,  worst! 
The  older  any  one,  the  less  his  fault; 
Not  till  the  eightieth  year  to  break  one's  limb 
Is  scarcely  a  mishap,  makes  lame  not  long ! 
To  lose  one's  little  finger,  as  a  child, 
Is  a  misfortune  that  lasts  eighty  years ! 
Stupidity  and  badness  bring  no  worse 
Danger  nor  punishment  than  just  themselves, 
In  time's  vast  range,  no  penalty  of  death, 
Endless  damnation,  —  no  !     A  worse  :    the  life- 
Penalty,  just  to  live  a  bad,  dull  life, 
To  lose  one's  life,  to  die  unripe,  on  earth 
To  have  lived  a  man,  and  yet  not  as  a  man, 
Not  to  have  been,  nay,  worse :    to  have  been  wretched ! 
The  mole  has  then  been  more  and  better:  —  He! 
The  stone  more  blest !   as  neither  dolt  nor  knave  ! 
Thou  'rt  bound  to  be  a  man,  wise,  pure,  and  good, 
Thyself  a  man  before  all  other  things ! 
It  helps  thee  not,  that  other  men  are  men, 
And  good  and  wise  ones,  that  the  round  earth  blooms, 
That  the  whole  human  race  is  prospering 
In  joy  and  righteousness,  that  goodly  works 
Of  painters,  sculptors,  poets,  fill  the  land 


iyo  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

With  grace  and  glory,  riches  and  renown ; 

Not  all  earth's  beauty  and  the  love  of  men 

Can  help  thee,  all  the  world's  perfection  still 

Leaves  thee  imperfect,  foolish,  base,  and  blind ! 

Then  boldly,  full  of  courage,  strength,  and  faith, 

Set  thyself  forth  as  end  of  the  great  whole  ! 

Fulfil  its  will  within  thee  faithfully 

By  thine  !     Lay  deep   thy  base  !     Build  thyself  up ! 

Thou  'rt  useless  to  the  world,  if  to  thyself! 

Thou  'rt  useless  to  thyself,  if  to  the  world ! 

Wilt  thou  then  prosper  in  the  outer  world, 

And  be  right  happy  in  and  through  thyself, 

Then  bend  thou  all  thy  powers  upon  thyself, 

Thyself  alone,  as  if  there  were  naught  else 

In  all  the  world  but  thou.     Then  wilt  thou  find 

The  world  at  every  hour  all  ready,  ready 

Even  as  the  mill-wheel,  when  the  stream  roars  down; 

Nature  meanwhile  will  take  a  mother's  care 

Of  thee,  will  be  beside  thee  every  day, 

Upon  her  path,  which  thou  hast  made  thy  path, 

Will  lead  thee,  ripen  thee  while  journeying;    not 

Misguide  thee  to  a  desert  where  no  dates, 

No  waters  spring ;    and  say  with  scornful  laugh  : 

"Here  die  now,  thou  that  hast  relied  on  me, 

And  on  thyself!    I  care  for  all;   not  each! 

Yea,  him  I  cast  off  who  will  be  a  man."  — 

Thy  iron  word  be  always  :     Take  no  step 

Away,  aside  from  thy  humanity ! 

Draw  not  a  single  breath,  raise  not  thy  hand 

Except  to  be,  and  to  abide,  a  man. 

Thou  art  God's  earthly  image,  let  not  aught 

Have  power  to  tear  thee  from  thy  pedestal, 

Let  not  the  treasures  of  the  whole  wide  world, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  171 

Not  all  the  honors  or  rewards  of  men, 

Tempt  thee  to  swerve  from  thy  supreme  reward, 

Thy  highest  honor :    that  of  being  a  man ! 


VIII. 

Why  are  Partings  hard? 

What  need  on  earth  of  saying  farewell !     All 

Goes,  after  all,  to  a  good  place.     Behold, 

Where  the  young  finch  flies  lightly  from  his  nest 

And  comes  not  home  again  ;   as  there  it  hangs, 

In  the  dry  leaves  of  autumn,  a  dry  thing, 

He  scarce  can  see  it  without  bodeful  thoughts  ; 

Flies  the  gold-chafer  from  the  chafer's  feast 

On  quick,  light  wing,  glad  as  a  youthful  god! 

The  winged  maple-'seed,  and  thistle-beard, 

Float  on  the  breeze  light-hearted,  caring  not 

For  so  much  earth  as  might  a  rain-drop  drown, 

To  serve  them  for  a  cradle,  for  a  grave ! 

The  dying  flowers  part  calmly  from  the  flowers, 

The  blossoms  snow  down  calmly  on  the  earth, 

The  leaves  drop  calmly  from  the  leaves,  no  sigh 

Breathed  upward  to  the  tree  where  once  they  played! 

The  birds  quit  calmly  autumn's  leafless  realm, 

Nor  look  back  to  the  wood  that  harbored  them! 

Man  only  follows  restlessly  his  fate, 

And  sorely  parts,  because  he  has  not  faith, 

And  has  not,  as  a  pure  child,  tasted  bliss. 


172  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

IX. 

Not  to  be  unhappy  is  Happiness. 

Mere  freedom  from  misfortune  is  good  fortune  ! 
Is  man's  great  wish !     No  sorrow  then  bows  down 
His  head  to  earth  ;   no  tear  bedims  his  eye 
And  veils  the  fair  world  from  his  sight ;   no  fear 
O'ercasts  the  radiance  of  the  sunny  days ; 
Nor  yet  does  ev'n  a  hope  contract  his  breast, 
And  fix  his  spirit's  eye  on  earthly  things. 
Free  from  misfortune,  man  can  live  in  bliss, 
With  gladness  can  enjoy  what  makes  this  life 
A  thing  divine  to  man  :    for  as  the  rose 
Is  laden  with  sweet  perfume,  so  the  world 
Is  laden  with  beauty  and  felicity. 
And  even  a  god  cannot  impart  to  man 
A  higher  joy  than  God  has  given  to  him 
Who  lives  in  purity  an  unvexed  life! 


x. 

Honor  Beauty  and  Goodness  everywhere. 

The  good  in  others,  O  conceal  thou  not, 

The  good,  both  what  they  do  and  what  they  are, 

The  beauty  they  themselves  are,  and  create. 

What?   by  concealment  thankest  thou  the  God 

Who  gave  the  feeling  for  the  fair  and  good  ? 

Thankest  thou  thus  the  man,  who  offers  it 

With  soul  inspired  by  native  modesty  ? 

For  such  a  soul  is  his,  who  bears  so  much 

Of  what  is  good  and  fair,  that  like  the  fruit-tree 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIAR^.  173 

He  must  bow  down  to  reach  it  out  to  thee. 

Acknowledgment  of  God  exalts  thyself, 

It  makes  thee  good ;   and  beauty  makes  thy  soul 

Beauteous  like  his  by  whom  't  is  brought  and  worn, 

Where  much  is  to  be  praised,  there  thou  may'st  blame, 

But  to  be  silent,  —  't  would  disgrace  the  frog, 

Who  speaks  the  praise  of  Spring,  as  best  he  can. 

—  Far  otherwise  the  morning  star  in  Heaven  ! 

He  has  sailed  through  the  tepid  summer  night, 

Has  looked  upon  its  splendor  near  at  hand,  .... 

The  highest  spirit  in  highest  silence  throned,  .... 

The  sweeping  constellations,  and  the  ether 

Like  a  deep  well-spring  full  of  gentle  life, — 

And  yet  is  silent!  —  They  too  who  have  seen 

Him  yonder,  they  in  silence  muse  alone. 

His  sparkling  eye,  his  glance  that  shoots  afar 

Clear  as  pure  gold  along  the  heavenly  space, 

That  is  his  call !     He  is  himself  his  hymn ! 

XI. 

Oil  on  the  Waves. 

The  seaman  pours  upon  the  storm-tossed  waves 

His  cask  of  oil,  and  they  compose  themselves 

All  round  his  ship.     And  now  he  smoothly  glides 

O'er  a  still  plain,  round  which  the  tempest  roars 

And  rolls  high  waves  that  come  not  near  to  him. 

With  surer,  softer  influence  works  on  men 

The  spiritual  might  of  gentleness. 

Then  pour  it  out,  like  gentle  moonlight,  man, 

Upon  thy  path,  and  tranquil  will  it  be 

And  lovely ;    as  the  moon  adorns  her  path 

With  the  same  light  that  guides  and  gladdens  men. 


174  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XII. 
Everything  beautiful  in  its  Place. 

Seen  in  its  place,  is  nothing  so  august 

Nor  vile  as  far  off  and  alone  it  seems  ; 

Perchance  the  Sun  itself  is  not  so  hot. 

Thou  journeyest  to  see  the  giant  palms,  — 

And  Nature  leads  thee  gently  up  to  them 

Through  lines  of  cedars  and  of  cypresses. 

Thou  seek'st  the  jungle  of  the  elephants,  — 

And  lions,  tigers  there  she  lets  thee  meet. 

The  tiger's  spots  suit  him  as  naturally, 

As  do  the  delicate  pink  its  tender  streaks. 

The  setting  only  makes  the  object  clear 

And  needful,  as  the  tree's  bark  to  its  pith,— 

So  from  the  hoary,  holy  days  of  old 

Comes  down  a  people!   and  its  smallest  custom 

Is,  as  the  oak-leaf  by  the  parent  stem, 

Borne  fresh  and  living  in  the  age's  sky. — 

'T  is  a  sweet  solace  to  the  friend  of  man, 

That  all  which  anywhere  has  lasted  long, 

—  And  though  'twere  death,  — being  so  familiarized 

To  human  feeling,  and  grown  mild  by  use, 

Its  harshness  long  worn  off,  means  less  and  less, 

Nay,  often  wears  a  fair  and  human  look, 

Made  beauteous  by  those  bliss-laden  flowers 

Strewed  by  a  faithful  God  through  all  our  days ! 


THE  LAYMAATS  BREVIARY.  175 


XIII. 
That  which  is  unseen  is  eternal. 

The  breath  that  from  the  tepid  heaven,  unseen, 

Falls  on  the  blossoms  here,  so  that  they  thrill, 

And  softly  dies  away,  —  does  it  decay? 

Is  it  of  flesh  ?   or  is  its  influence  wood, 

That  it  must  moulder,  undergo  a  change, 

As  flower-seeds  do  even  in  the  best  of  earth  ! 

The  word,  —  the  deed  of  man  are  not  of  earth, 

Not  earthy.     Were  he  so,  even  then  he  were 

Indissoluble,  incorruptible, 

As  element!     But  what  subdues  and  sways 

The  very  elements,  — creates  on  earth! 

Creates  ev'n  in  the  silent  spirit-realm, 

It  even  shapes  itself  and  roots  itself. 

A  look  into  a  human  eye  dies  not ! 

A  word  once  spoken  to  a  good  soul  lives  : 

For  incorruptible,  indestructible  is 

The  element  divine  in  which  it  fell. 

Then  always  think  thou  this :     There  may  be  One, 

Who  writes  down  everything  thou  say'st  and  doest! 

And  canst  thou  trust  thyself,  there   really  is 

One  who  engraves  thy  every  word  and  deed, 

Ay,  every  thought!     That  Some  One  is  — the  Spirit 

Think  always,  then,  the  good,  the  true,  the  right. 

O  live  in  the  most  loving  sentiment, 

And  shape  unresting  beauty  in  thy  heart ! 

'T  will  crystallize,  't  will  grow  a  precious  stone, 

Fairer  and  costlier  than  the  diamond, 

'T  will  grow  a  sun,  the  sun  that  spirits  see. 


176  THE  LAYMAJSTS  BREVIARY. 

XIV. 
The  Expressiveness  of  Silence. 

What  touches  the  most  deeply  a  man's  heart, 

Ay,  and  a  lover's  ?  —  'T  is  the  silent  proofs,  — 

Not  the  loud-spoken  words,  —  that  testify 

A  true  heart's  beautiful  and  faithful  love  ; 

The  dead,  —  their  lips  are  silent,  —  yet  they  speak 

With  a  loud  voice !   their  eyes  are  shut  and  sealed, 

And  yet  behold  us !   mildly  smiles  their  face,  — 

And  we,  we  weep  to  look  upon  that  smile, 

Which  a  dead  loved  one  leaves  us  as  a  proof 

How  gladly  she  would  still  have  lived  for  us  !  — 

And  yet  how  gladly  she  had  died,  that  so 

She  thus  might  say:     "I  loved  thee  unto  death!" 

Then  reverence  the  holy,  eloquent 

Silence  of  sun  and  earth  and  every  heart ! 

For  everything  most  noble  and  most  fair 

Is  still,  and  chiefly  when  unuttered,  works 

With  heavenly  might  unutterable  things ! 

xv. 

The  Euthanasy  of  a  Day. 

See  where  the  day  burns  out !     Its  ruddy  blaze 

Strikes  to  the  clouds,  and  now  they  glow  with  fire. 

In  ashes  sinks  the  day,  't  is  dark  all  round, 

The  holy  palace  fades  away  forever, 

And  see,  the  clouds  of  sunset  weep  great  drops 

Dyed  with  a  purple  glow,  as  red  as  blood. 

O  soul,  is  it  a  folly,  is  't  a  crime 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


177 


To  ask  ?  —  O  ask,  then,  only  once  ask  thou : 

The  past,  say  whither,  whither  has  it  fled? 

Where  is  it,  where  ?     What  has  become  of  all 

The  treasures,  wonders,  all  the  stately  forms,  .... 

The  beauteous,  piled-up  structures  of  the  air, 

Creative  Nature's  lavish  hand  dispersed  ? 

And  does  she  only  scatter  ?     Ne'er  restore  ? 

For  verily  they  were  !     Yea,  bodily  ! 

Thou  hast,  hast  with  these  very  eyes  of  thine 

Beheld  them,  with  these  very  hands  of  thine 

Hast  touched,  hast  handled  many  a  blooming  twig; 

The  summer  flowers  and  the  fair  maiden's  curls, 

These  hast  thou  touched,  —  and  scarce  believed  it  when 

The  thought  came  :  they  are  all  a  dream,  —  are  naught,  — 

Soon  they  will  pass  away,  will  all  be  gone 

Into  the  gulf  of  Being,  —  of  Have  Been. 

And  lo !    already  they  are  gone  !    all  gone  ! 

Yonder  the  Spring  burns  out !    its  blaze  of  hues 

Expires  in  clouds,  and  thou,  too,  weep'st  like  them. 

And  every  beauteous  face,  each  little  face 

Of  childhood,  is  a  new,  original  work, 

Else  has  no  painter  painted,  sculptor  shaped, 

Nor  heart  e'er  loved,  nor  stands  there  anywhere 

A  human  treasure-house  full  of  man's  works. 

And  every  bud  was  an  original  thing, 

Though  the  tree's  child,  and  though  the  tree  itself 

Was  the  earth's  child,  and  earth  again  in  turn 

A  child  of  heaven.     I  pray  thee  tell  me,  where 

Shall  holy  Nature's  treasure-house  be  found? 

And  had  she  many  thousand  times  too  many 

Treasures  ?     Her  starry  spaces,  were  even  they 

A  mere  child's  table,  all  too  small  and  narrow 

To  spread  out  wide  her  riches  on,  or  even 


178  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

To  heap  them  up  on,  as  a  golden  mountain  ? 

And  does  she  now,  having  just  shown  her  things, 

From  all  the  enormous  spaces  sweep  them  off, 

And  is  then  every  star  made,  every  day, 

A  wholly  new,  clean  table  for  her  plays, 

Whereon  she  spreads  them  out  successively 

To  please  her  children  ?  and  the  play  is  up, 

So  soon  as  she  has  kissed  and  sent  them  off 

To  bed  ?   how  silently  the  flowers  do  sleep ! 

I  miss  the  store-house,  my  heart  misses  it, 

I  miss  the  show-hall,  my  mind  misses  it, 

Where  Nature  treasures  up  the  host  of  works, 

Which  she  with  never-tiring  industry, 

With  highest  art,  with  touchingly-still  love, 

Creates  to-day,  created  yesterday, 

And  has  created  from  eternity. 

And  if  she  wants  such,  —  then  she  wants  and  wants 

Forevermore  her  fairest  Sanctuary. — 

Methinks,  thou  now  art  ready,  sacredly 

To  pay  the  reverence  due  to  all  that  lives ! 


XVI. 

Learn  Wisdom  from  the  World. 

My  Son,  be  wise  and  make  the  world  thy  school. 
For  knowledge  of  all  kinds  't  is  over-rich  ; 
As  thou  considerest  it,  it  teaches  thee 
Each  thing  in  turn  and  so  thou  learnest  it. 
Wilt  thou  now  learn  compassion,  for  the  present 
Avoid  the  beggars,  and  the  poor  and  sick, 
Farewell  to  hovels  where  the  afflicted  weep, 
Stay  not  to  list  the  wailings  of  the  oppressed, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  179 

Constrain  thyself,  see  not  unrighteousness 

Do  her  misdeeds,  be  silent  'mong  the  sad; 

Think  now :    thou  livest  in  a  perfect  world ! 

The  human  form  is  finished,  like  the  earth  ! 

Upon  the  fairest  faces  feast  thine  eyes, 

Linger  in  golden  chambers,  look  thy  fill 

At  the  gay  pomp  of  great  ones,  eat  and  drink 

To  fulness  of  their  viands  and  their  wines, — 

Then,  go  learn  Freedom !  both  in  act  and  thought, 

Live,  where  one  honors  all  alike  as  men; 

Visit  fair  countries,  cities  richly  built, 

And  if  thou  wilt,  look  upon  ruins,  too, 

And  on  old  graves,  till  it  comes  home  to  thee : 

How  soon  the  fairest  human  life  is  gone ! 

Hail  the  bright  Sun  ;   and  think  of  Him  who  said  : 

That  as  the  heavenly  kingdom  was  in  Heaven, 

So  should  it  be  on  earth,  —  and  brought  it  down  ! 

With  such  an  eye,  with  such  a  heart  behold 

Humanity,  its  ignominious  flight, — 

And  if  thou  hast  not  for  a  heart  —  a  stone, 

Then  hast  thou  pity,  know'st  what  pity  means  ! 


XVII. 
Man  never  knows  hitnself  till  the  End. 

Thy  frame,  O  man,  as  child,  as  youth,  as  man, 

As  old  man,  is  a  vessel,  ever-new, 

Which  with  continually  changing  thoughts, 

Emotions,  wishes,  purposes,  desires, 

With  changing  moods  for  all  the  changing  days, 

With  changing  soul  for  all  the  changing  hours, 

Draws  from  the  well  of  life  for  thee  on  earth.  — 


i8o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  errest,  then,  in  thinking  them  art  right, 

Only  when  thou  dost  hope  one  thing,  or  all ; 

That  thou  art  right  only  when  thou  enjoy'st 

One  thing  with  zest ;    or  only  then  art  right, 

When  thou  rememberest  it ;    or  only  when 

Thou  hatest,  lov'st,  despisest,  prizest  it! 

Think  always,  man,  that  thou  art  many  men, 

A  thousand-fold  man  by  unfolding  ever. 

A  whole  man  art  thou  not ;   that  nothing  short 

Of  a  whole  life  can  make  thee.     Know  thou  then : 

Man  is  invisible;   his  total  being 

Never  appears.     Child,  youth,  man,  old  man,  never 

Unite  in  one.     Man  never  sees  himself. 

And  none  sees  him.     The  swimmer  in  the  sea 

Shows  now  a  shoulder  only,  now  an  arm, 

A  foot,  a  hand,  —  until  he  climbs  the  bank 

And  stands  majestic  there,  a  man  complete  ! 

Then  never,  in  whatever  mood,  supinely 

Give  thyself  up, — be  sure  it  will  not  last; 

Nor  in  the  height  of  fortune  be  at  ease 

And  vain,  —  it  cannot  last.     But  thou  shalt  last, 

To  men  and  to  thyself  invisible. 

Only  thy  soul  shalt  thou  behold  entire 

In  the  great  hour  of  death,  and  not  before.  — 

And  if  a  man  can,  like  the  glowing  grape, 

In  one  short  summer  fill  himself  so  full 

With  precious  richness,  —  then  how  precious  rich, 

How  passing  rich  the  universe  must  be, 

That  sweeps  along  before  the  human  race, 

With  myriads  of  suns,  with  such  a  sea 

Of  energies,  that  unveiled  laboratory 

Full  of  the  naked,  manifest  art  and  toil 

Of  Him,  the  veiled,  yet  plainly  busy  Master, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  181 

To  whom  the  human  race  sustains  as  near 
Relation,  as  the  eyes  do  to  the  light, 
As  intimate  as  thought  does  to  the  mind, 
As  head  and  members  do,  as  sea  and  shell, 
As  shell  and  pearl,  nay,  more,  as  intimate, 
As  that  which  makes  the  vine  and  cluster  one, 
Co-working  for  the  full,  the  clear  ripe  glow. 
Let  man  be  never  discontented  then 
In  evil  fortune,  —  nor  in  good  content. 


XVIII. 
Wherein  shall  Man  live  ? 

Wherein  shall  a  man  live  ?  —  Not  possibly 

Here  in  the  body.     For  thy  very  eye 

Bears  thee  o'er  garden,  valley,  mountains,  far 

Away ;   out  of  thyself.     With  eye,  ear,  sense, 

Thou  dost  already,  like  a  demigod, 

In  the  great  house  of  Nature,  greatly  live, 

Up  on  yon  clouds ;   out  in  the   starry  night. 

For  how  could  man  e'er  live  a  mortal  life  ? 

Thou  livest  even  here  as  an  immortal, 

Beholdest  all  change    come  and  pass  away, 

And  in  the  body  still  remainest  thou. 

Thou  would'st  live  better  then  out  of  the  body. 

Thou  livest  in  the  spirit  the  true  life. 

Light  is  invisible.     So  mind  and  sun. 

Their  very  image,  like  a  fire,  illumines 

And  colors ;   therefore  do  the  world  and  life 

Illuminate  thy  spirit.     Hence  thou  livest 

Out  of  thy  spirit,  a  warm,  bright,  cheering  life, 

High  and  harmonious.     Yet  the  spirit's  fire 


182  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  force  is  love.     In  love  thou  livest  now 
A  rich,  fair  life,  —  yet  out  of  love  thou  livest 
Divineliest,  for  thou  livest  out  of  God. 

XIX. 

Add  to  Goodness  Beauty  and  Joy. 

The  child  would  give  his  pretty  pigeon  food ; 

The  mother  strews  its  food,  —  but  in  the  shade! 

And  but  one  pigeon  pecks  the  golden  grains, 

No  play  of  light  enwreathes  his  mottled  neck, 

No  shadow  of  the  pigeon  paints  itself, 

No  lovely,  living  image.     But  the  child, — 

He  strews  his  golden  kernels  in  the  sun, — 

And  lo!   two  little  pigeons  peck  the  food! 

And  sunny-bright  his  darling  shines  for  joy. 

Now  that  was  just  the  dearest  little  folly ; 

Yet  would  that  thou  wert  like  the  child  in  heart, 

To  take  one  short  step  more  than  thousands  do, 

A  hard  step,  oft-forgotten  in  the  hurry 

Of  life  :    from  vanity,  or  spurious  pride ! 

The  good  thou  doest,  make  pleasing,  beautiful ! 

For  naught  is  good,  that  sheds,  not  joy,  but  gloom. 

Thou  hast  in  this  a  genuine  test  of  good, 

What  thou  receivest  and  doest,  and  of  thy  goods, 

The  goods  of  life,  —  yea,  life  itself  and  death. 


XX. 

The  three  Sacred  Rights  of  Man. 

Three  things  belong  to  every  man,  which  none 
Has  any  right  to  wrest  from  him  or  harm: 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  183 

God's  gift  of  being  and  of  happiness,  — 

The  help  of  them  who  share  this  life  with  him, — 

But  the  third  only  makes  him  fully  man  ! 

The  right  to  reverence  God  and  love  His  children 

In  trouble  and  in  death.     For  without  love 

This  great  house  of  the  world  must  needs  collapse, 

And  every  human  house  and  human  heart 

Sooner  than  lose  this  right,  then,  lose  thy  life, 

To  exercise  it,  welcome  death  itself! 

XXI. 

The  Creature's  Gifts  often  his  Ruin. 

It  is  the  costly  tooth,  — the  ivory,— 

For  which  men  hunt  and  kill  the  elephant ; 

The  mussel  that  men  open,  till  it  dies, — 

Must  thank  its  pearl  for  that !     The  beauteous  bird, 

The  Tsu,  is  caught,  — for  having  handsome  wings; 

The  art  of  talking  lays  the  fetter  on 

The  parrot's  foot  and  binds  him  to  the  cage; 

They  seek  the  tortoise  to  secure  his  house  ; 

The  musk-ox  might  have  grazed  in  quietness 

Had  not  his  musk  alone  made  man  his  foe  ; 

Even  with  the  works  of  art,  it  oft  holds  good 

That  what  gives  worth  to  them  destroys  them  too  ; 

Thus  does  the  sound  wear  out  the  bell,  the  torch 

Consumes  itself  ev'n  by  the  light  it  gives, 

And  ah !   how  often  does  the  selfsame  thing 

Happen  to  man !     Let  him  then  who  is  wise 

Think  upon  this  at  all  times  and  take  heed : 

That  his  endowments  hasten  not  his  fall !  * 

*  Originally  from  the  Chinese. 

[Of  course  every  one  is  reminded  of  Italy's  fatal  gift  of  beauty.  —  TR.] 


184  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


XXII. 
Divine  Consolation  for  the  Erring. 

Even  Error's  devious  ways  make  error  plain, 

But  opposite  to  Error,  evermore 

Stands  Truth,  majestic  as  the  rainbow  stands 

Fronting  the  Sun.     'T  is  born  of  sun  and  rain.— 

There  is  a  joy  in  woe  ;   it  springs  from  it, 

As  darts  the  lightning-gleam  from  heavy  clouds, — 

Nor  is  it  always  day  upon  the  earth. 

And  still  we  call  our  earthly  dwelling  light. 

We  know,  even  in  the  night-time,  where  we  dwell, 

For  none  forgets,  who  e'er  has  seen,  the  sun, 

Then,  only  to  have  been  made  happy  once, 

Only  to  know  that  some  one  loves  us,  one 

Who,  if  he  lived,  would  love  us  alvvay,  —  that 

Is  comforting  and  cheering  at  all  times, 

And  One  in  all  times  lives  and  loves  us,  —  God ! 

And  every  one  ivas  blest, — he  'was  a  child! 

The  star  of  youth  is  the  great  Evening  Sun. 


XXIII. 
The  Aged  Sceptic  at  the  Grave. 

"  You  talk  to  me  so  much  about  the  seed, 

How  it  must  moulder,  e'er  a  germ  of  life 

Can  spring  from  it  anew ;    and  so  man's  frame. 

But  from  this  body  no  new  body  grows 

The  first  spring,  and  still  less  will  grow  the  last. 

The  seed-corn  lies  there  dead,  till  it  is  sown; 

Livingly  works  the  body,  till  dissolved, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  185 

—  (The  soul,  as  being,  can  only  disappear)  — 
And,  while  it  lasts  and  lives,  still  bears  its  fruit  — 
The  soul, — which  veiled  by  it  so  quietly, 

So  gracefully,  has  worn  it  for  a  dress, 
Has  shaped  it  to  itself,  then  thrown  it  by, 
A  cast-off  garment.     If,  then,  in  the  time 
Of  the  soul's  bodily  life  naught  has  transpired 
Deep  in  the  soul  itself  and  from  the  soul, 
The  case  is  bad  enough ;   for  from  the  grave 
Naught  can  arise,  not  what  you  laid  therein, 
Still  less  what  you  have  never  laid  therein ! 
The  soul !  -which  I  possess,  remain,  and  am." 

—  So  spake  an  old  man  lightly  on  the  graves, 
And  sought  himself  a  place  among  his  kin, 
Leading  along  two  grandsons,  fair  as  day, 

And  fresh  as  life.     But  their  eyes  turned  aside ; 

For  on  the  gravestone,  lo!   the  worm  began 

Her  chrysalis,  and  rocking  with  her  head, 

She  spun  the  threads  to  form  her  silken  couch ; 

The  sun  went  down;    her  lovely  day  was  up, — 

Still,  dead-alive,  she  hung  there  by  a  thread, 

And  grew  a  Psyche  in  the  golden  body, 

Newly  enkindled  at  the  ancient  spark. 

From  the  well's  bottom  through  the  liquid  clearness 

The  little  gnat  came  up  from  his  red  cell; 

His  feet  he  planted  broadly  under  him, 

And  like  a  new-born  kid  he  stood  erect 

A  moment  on  the  surface  in  the  sun 

And  prinked  his  untried  plumes  for  the  first  flight! 

And  scarcely  guessing  yet  that  he  had  wings, 

Flew  lightly  out  into  the  evening-glow, 

While  the  clouds  softly  thundered  overhead, 

In  token  that  up  there,  too,  there  was  life  ! 


1 86  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  awe  and  reverence  filled  my  soul,  that  I, 
I  too  claimed  kindred  with  such  miracles 
That  in  primeval,  hoary  time  had  reigned 
As  if  but  yesterday,  and  will,  as  if 
But  for  to-morrow,  reign  unceasingly. 
And  from  my  eyes  the  burning  tear-drops  fell, 
They  were  the  tears  of  Nature  for  herself, 
The  thunder's  voice,  the  old  man  and  the  child. 


XXIV. 

The  Lost  Child  on  the  Alps. 

A  stranger  child  has  lost  his  way  and  now 

The  highest  glacier's  silver  castle  climbs, 

That  with  its  tower  stands  high  above  the  clouds. 

Hope  fires  him ;   for  up  there  he  will  behold 

His  home,  his  father!     He  will  climb  to  Heaven, 

Will  enter  it  from  there  and  tread  its  walks. 

For  there  is  where  the   Sun  doth  daily  rise, 

The  stars,  too,  over  yonder,  every  night 

Rest  like  a  flock,  there  gleams  the  purple  gate, 

Through  which  the  shepherd,  evenings,  drives  them  out, 

Through  which  the  shepherd  scares  them  in  at  morn. 

So  climbs  the  child,  —  climbs  wrong,  and  baffled  sits 

High  up  alone,  alone  there  in  the  storm, 

That  blows  the  gray  hair  wildly  round  his  face,  — 

For  suddenly  he  has  grown  old  with  fright 

Cut  off  from  help  he  sits  there  on  the  peak ; 

He  can  no  more  go  down  into  the  fields 

And  flowery  lawns  he  played  in,  cannot  even 

Distinctly  see  them,  for  his  eye  is  dim, 

The  green  earth  down  below  there  lies  so  far, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  187 

No  human  sound  can  longer  reach  his  ear, 

Not  even  the  voice  of  the  good  foster-parents, 

Who  followed  him  a  furlong  with  fond  care, 

Then  cast  one  tearful  look  and  suddenly 

Sank  down  beneath  their  load  and  turned  to  dust. 

This  to  the  child  a  quiet  Spirit  tells, 

That  lingers  with  him.     Now  the  night  draws  near, 

Now  heavy  storm-clouds  tower  up  black  in  heaven, 

And  now  his  frighted  glance  no  refuge  sees 

In,  out,  or  down,  but  in  the  grim  abyss, — 

When  suddenly  grow  on  him  golden  wings, 

And  as  he  walked  before,  —  so  now  he  soars 

And  flies  to  his  father. — 

Man,  that  child  art  thou. 


xxv. 

The  Temple  of  Dream. 

The  ancients,  dimly  conscious  yet  of  self, 

And  hovering  with  vague  thought  through  Nature's  realm, 

Built  special  temples  for  themselves,  wherein 

To  dream  of  Man,  Futurity,  and  Truth. 

In  such  a  temple  man  himself  is  born, 

Walks,  talks,  and  dreams  therein  with  open  eyes, 

He  comes    a  wonder,  and  a  wonder   goes ! 

And  only  not  the  dream-house  seems  a  dream, 

Because  new  dreamers  ever  dream  therein, 

And  its  roof  arches  over  all  who  sleep. 

And  so  the  dreamers  and  the  dreams  therein 

Seem  then  more  weighty  and  more  wonderful, 

Yea,  truer,  than  the  hollow  house  of  dream ! 


i88  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

XXVI. 

The  Divinity  of  Man. 

Man  is  divine,  in  him  dwells  manifestly 
A  God,  the  beauteous  soul  of  God  himself! 
And  even  man's  frame  is  visibly  endowed 
By  Nature's  fair  and  holy  elements, 
In  sooth  they  constitute  it,  —  it  is  they. 
But  ah,  the  God  on  earth,  —  is  very  man, 
And  weeps  already  as  a  new-born  child 
Upon  a  mother's  breast,  —  that  goddess's, 
Who,  but  a  few  days  earlier,  also  came 
On  earth,  to  be  to  him  a  human  mother, 
Softly  to  cradle  him  with  anxious  heart, 
To  love  him  and  to  be  by  him  beloved. 
And  lo,  as  if  departed  out  of  Heaven, 
Nay,  as  if  banished,  so  is  man  on  earth 
An  incomparable  original, 
A  strange,  mysterious,  awe-invested  thing : 
Even  like  the  diamond  hidden  in  the  flint! 
Like  to  the  bee  within  its  amber-prison  ; 
Like  the  twin-image  in  an  Iceland  spar, 
Like  to  the  double  berry  in  the  cluster, 
Each  with  its  special  juice,  its  special  stone. 
Man,  —  human  kind,  —  as  such,  is  but  a  show, 
A  fleeting  light,  a  phantom  of  the  hour, 
A  ghost,  the  shadow  of  a  Spirit,  God ; 
And  yet  the  shadow  only  says  the  truth, 
Saying  of  itself  between  its  tears  and  smiles  : 
"  Man  is  divine !     In  him  dwells  manifestly 
A  God,  the  beauteous  soul  of  God  himself."* 

*  This  reminds  one  of  a  thought  of  Pascal's.  —  TR. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  189 

XXVII. 
The  Rich  Man  and  Sleep. 

"A  rich  man  bade  his  servant  wake  him  up 

At  every  hour  of  night,  that  he  might  feel 

Full  often  and  right  vividly  the  sweetness 

Of  sleep,  of  going  to  sleep,  of  half-awaking. 

This  man  had  many  children,  and  he  wished, 

Large  as  their  number  was,  so  large  a  joy 

To  feel  in  often  and  in  half-awaking, 

And  to  impart  the  same  to  every  child ; 

And  to  this  end  with  careful  hand  he  drew 

A  magic  chain  round  all  his  children's  beds, 

—  Who  at  his  pleasure  fell  asleep  and  woke.  — 

But  the  chain's  lock  he  laid  beneath  his  head. 

And  so,  a  mute  enchanter,  he  enjoyed 

The  pith  of  pleasure,  sleep ;   the  dream  of  death. 

And  lo,  the  golden  chain  led  silently 

Dreams  also  to  the  brain  of  every  child.  — 

Come,  name  me  now  the  children  !   and  the  man  — 

The  mute  one !     Name  me  the  mute  servant  too ! " 

A  conjurer  in  Egypt  said  to  me. 

And  I  replied :     The  rich  man,  —  he  is  God. 

The  silent  servant,  Death.     The  children,  —  well, 

They  are  we  two !  and  all  men,  all  that  dwell 

On  all  the  stars  that  round  about  us  shine. 

XXVIII. 
God  All  in  AIL 

To  say  that  all  know  all  things,  recognize, 
Experience,  yea,  live  through,  themselves,  each  state, 


190 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Each  fate,  the  entire  round  of  woe  and  joy, 

And  think,  themselves,  each  thought  of  every  one,  — 

That  every  feeling  thrills  through,  constitutes, 

So  many  beings  as  there  are  on  earth  : 

The  earth  itself,  the  waters  and  the  winds, 

The  rocks,  the  grass,  the  blossoms  and  the  fruits, 

The  fishes  in  the  sea,  the  beasts  in  woods, 

The  flowers  and  trees  and  all  the  birds  and  men, 

The  very  Proteus  in  the  earth's  dark  caves, 

The  flowers  in  the  deep  garden  of  the  sea,  .... 

And  that  for  ages  they  have  been  all  this, 

And  quietly  will  be  for  ages  yet; 

And  that  the  unnumbered  stars  through  endless  space, 

With  all  the  wondrous  creatures  thereupon, 

And  with  their  thousand  wondrous  powers  of  sense, 

Have  known,  lived,  been,  and  thought  whatever  is, 

And  know,  live,  and  experience  it  to-day, 

And  in  themselves  will  live  it  through  all  time, 

And  that  in  this  way  all  best  know  themselves : 

Call'st  thou  all-knowingness,  all-consciousness  ? 

That  all  know  all,  call'st  thou  omniscience  ?  — 

That  were  to  crush  the  diamond  into  dust! 

To  dissipate  into  sun-dust  the  great  Sun ! 

To  change  the  great  heart  into  drops  of  blood ! 

To  make  the  universal  eye  a  fly's-eye  ! 

The  spirit  of  all  can  of  himself  be  all, 

And  He  himself  is  all,  as  true  as  He  is, 

And  He?  — Shall  He  alone  then  not  exist?* 

O  shame  !     Nay  !     He  himself  is  also  God ! 

Nay,  He  is  all !   not  beside  each  is  He, 

He  is  entire  in  every  single  one, 

Alike  in  them  and  in  himself  entire, 

*  "He  that  formed  the  eye,  shall  He  not  see?"  —  PSALM  xciv.  9. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  191 

He  knows  us  all.  even  as  we  all  know  him, 
And  therefore  He  is,  just  as  we  —  is  We! 
And  we  are,  just  as  He  too  is,  not  He ! 
Nay,  we  consist  of  Him,  and  He  of  us, 
The  life  of  all  that  is,  makes  out  His  life. 

Now  dost  thou  know,  methinks,  the  blessedness, 

The  silent,  inward,  present  blessedness 

In  all  things,  that  to-day  is  and  forever, 

Proceeding  ever  from  the  holy  life 

That  billows  round  about  us  like  a  sea! 

For  all  this  magic  loveliness  and  grace 

Of  the  unnumbered  creatures,  as  of  flowers 

And  men,  and  of  the  male  and  female  sex, 

In  every  kind  of  creature  that  hath  life,  .... 

The  joy  that  day  awakens,  every  day, 

The  bliss  that  night  awakens,  in  all  nights,  .... 

The  gladness  of  all  creatures  in  themselves, 

Their  gladness  in  their  hearts,,  and  doings  all, 

And  in  all  others  round  them  everywhere, 

Even  in  the  stars  and  in  the  starry  night, 

The  immeasurable  joy  of  all  the  young 

In  every  kind  of  creature  that  hath  life, 

The  finding,  laying  hold  upon,  possessing, 

Contemplating,  exploring,  recognizing,  .... 

The  love  that  fills  and  overflows  each  breast, 

The  love  of  brides,  the  love  that  mothers  feel 

Towards  their  children,  and  the  children's  love, 

The  love  of  each  one  for  the  universe, 

Hope,  memory,  and  the  very  sorrow  felt, 

The  very  tears  shed  over  what  is  lost 

And  now  lives  only  as  behind  a  veil, 

The  exalted  sympathy  of  dying  men, 


192  THE  LAYMAN' >S BREVIARY. 

The  smile  that  welcomes  the  new-born  to  life, 
The  smile  that  hails  and  crowns  a  worthy  deed, 
The  smile  that  greets  the  coming  of  a  spring, 
On  one  face  only  !  —  And  all  this  through  worlds 
Repeated  without  number,  without  measure! 
And  without  change  repeated  through  all  change, 
O  were  not  that  felicity  enough 
To  fill  one  man  ?     What  say  I  ?     Is  not  this 
The  rapture  of  the  One  great  heart  that  feels 
All  beings,  as  thou  hardly  feel'st  thyself!  .... 
It  is  felicity  !     Felicity 
Is  ready  for  thee  too,  so  sure  as  thou 
Shalt  lose  and  shalt  forget  thyself:    the  man, 
When  God  is  no  more  man,  no,  Thou  in  God, 
God  is  no  more  Thou-He,  henceforth  He-Thou. 
•That  life  may  be,  —  is  blessedness  ordained, 
That  blessedness  may  be, — for  this  is  life! 
Once  more  then  in  the  highest  sense  I  say : 
He  only  who  hears  out  the  entire  voice 
Of  Nature  finds  her  to  be  —  blessedness! 
And,  man,  for  God's  sake  live  a  godly  life ! 
For  such  a  life  is  all  else  through  and  through. 


XXIX. 

GocPs  Use  of  Man's  Faults. 

This  seems  to  me  the  most  divine  in  God : 
The  turn  He  gives  even  to  unrighteousness  ; 
The  picture  which  He  paints  even  for  the  blind, 
And  sets  before  him  till  he  opens  his  eyes ! 
Thus  man  is  even  by  his  faults  made  blest, 
Thus  only,  with  life's  faires-t,  truest  bliss, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  193 

Blest  as  and  whence  he  never  hoped  to  be, 

Nor  yet  deserved ;   not  through  his  failing,  not 

Through  that  which  was  a  veritable  fault 

In  his  thought,  —  but  in  Nature's  thought  and  sense 

The  right,  the  true !     And  such  man  owns  it  then, 

And  reverently  accepts  it  as  his  life, 

As  he  accepts  long-slighted,  grown-up  children, 

That  were  not  owned  as  his,  and  yet  were  his, 

And  now  stand  round  him,  images  of  God. 

So,  too,  a  God  rewards  the  dream  of  wrong 

In  which  one  child  of  His  endured  and  wept ! 


XXX. 

The  Aims  of  Man. 

Our  aims  are  many.     Many  a  one  succeeds, 

And  many  a  one  seems  baffled ;   yet  the  world 

Softly  and  surely  all  our  working  guides. 

What  we  had  thought  of  least,  one  day  receives 

Our  name,  though  that  which  seemed  the  best,  perhaps, 

Was  labor  lost.     We  live  as  if  we  were 

Others,  we  think  we  are ;   we  even  seem 

To  be  such,  —  and  Time  makes  us  other  men. 


THE    LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

J  U L  Y. 


JULY. 

I.  Sincerity. 

II.  Night. 

III.  «  He  calleth  them  all  by  Name." 

IV.  Children  gathering  Strawberries. 
V.  The  Creation  of  Woman. 

VI.  God's  Memory. 

VII.  Compassion. 

VIII.  Optimism. 

IX.  The  Universal  Will. 

X.  Sundown. 

XL  Causes. 

XII.  Fate  and  Freedom. 

XIII.  Divine  Metamorphosis. 

XIV.  Earth  the  Home  of  Man. 
XV.  A  Lesson  from  the  Sun. 

XVI.  Be  worthy  of  thy  Place. 

XVII.  The  least  is  great. 

XVIII.  Theology  of  the  Hand. 

XIX.  The  delicate  Mystery  of  God. 

XX.  The  Spectators  of  Nature. 

XXI.  The  Swallow's  Message. 

XXII.  Man's  Pride  humbled. 

XXIII.  Against  Witchcraft. 

XXIV.  The  Voyage  of  Night. 

XXV.  The  Way  to  cure  Implacableness. 

XXVI.  The  Moral  of  Card-house-building. 

XXVII.  Fear  of  Thunder. 

XXVIII.  Goodness  is  simple  Being. 

XXIX.  Praying  to  the  Great  Physician. 

XXX.  Man's  Ability  and  Responsibility. 

XXXI.  The  Secret  of  Equanimity  towards  Men. 


JULY. 


Sincerity. 

ROOF  of  heart-ripeness,  clear  and  heavenly 

ring 

Of  the  pure  breast,  —  Sincerity,  thou  com'st, 
Of  all  the  virtues,  never  till  the  last, — 
(As  the  rose  comes  the  last  of  all  the  flowers),  — 
To  him  who  walked  not  in  a  steadfast  course 
Of  childlike  innocence !     And,  thou  dear  Soul 
Of  Truth,  how  good  and  pious  thou  must  be, 
Childlike  and  good  to  childlike  openness! 
With  what  sweet  grace  and  truth  the  child  himself 
Carries  his  erring  thoughts,  his  little  faults, 
And  even  his  hurtful  wishes,  to  his  mother! 
But  thou,  O  man,  how  sorely,  with  what  long 
And  bitter  pains,  thou  winn'st  back  honesty, 
Now  that  thou  seest  thy  faults,  confessest  them, 
First  to  thyself,  with  shame,  and  slough'st  them  off 
Painfully,  as  the  snake  his  spotted  skin, 
And  lurest  the  long  frighted  genii 
Back  to  the  good  ones  that  still  stayed  with  thee, 
Till,  like  a  bell,  thou  hast  attuned  thy  breast 
In  unison  with  the  holy  chime  of  Heaven, 
And  made  thy  tongue  the  tongue  of  the  just  balance 
That  weighs  the  true,  the  genuine,  and  the  right. 
Even  earth  herself  opens  not  her  pure  bosom 


198  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Till  with  the  little  crocus's  golden  head, 

With  hyacinthine  bells  that  shake  abroad 

The  true  spring  fragrance,  —  with  the  countenance 

And  eye  of  pure  and  radiant  flowers,  she  comes 

Forth  to  the  pure  and  holy  light  of  day ! 

Full  of  chaste  shame  before  even  human  eyes ! 

The  founder  cannot,  surely,  show  the  bell 

That  in  the  mould  still  boils  and  smokes  and  glares ; 

Who  would  lay  open  the  pomegranate's  apple, 

While  yet,  instead  of  ripe  and  purple  grains, 

It  teems  with  naught  but  green  and  bitter  milk? 

Who  lets  thee  see  his  eye  yet  red  with  tears, 

Till  first,  in  secret,  he  has  cleansed  it  dry? 

And  who,  in  fine,  can  let  thee  see  his  heart, 

Till,  as  a  silver  chalice,  it  is  pure  ? 

O  heavy  load  of  silence  and  reserve  ! 

O  heavy  pain  of  false  and  idle  speech  ! 

—  Through  a  pure  will  alone  comes  childhood  back. 

Happy,  who  can  at  length  rise  in  the  morn 

As  if  no  padlock  on  his  lips  were  laid 

By  evil  spirits  from  the  ancient  night ! 

Into  whose  eyes  the  sun's  glad  radiance  shines 

As  through  the  poppy's  light,  new-opened  house, 

Where  lies  no  captured  bee  that  died  o'er  night 

In  agony,  no  speck  of  dust !     His  heart, 

And  only  his,  has  like  the  rose's,  power 

And  right  to  bare  itself  to  men  and  gods. 

Thy  worth,  sincere  one  !    is  immeasurable 

To  thee  and  men.     Thou  hast  a  light,  secure 

Conscience  within.     Who  always  speaks  and  lives 

As  inwardly  he  thinks,  chimes  with  himself, 

With  God,  and  with  the  Universe  around, 

With  good  men  gladly,  even  with  bad  men  well. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  199 

Frank-hearted  one  !     Thy  look  is  free !     Thy  hand 
Cheers  with  its  grasp  !     To  him  who  looks  on  thee, 
A  genuine  man,  God's  image,  hath  appeared, 
He  is  no  more  alone!     To  thee  all  hearts 
Unfold  in  beauty  and  in  joy.     Thy  word 
Unlocks  the  richest  treasures  of  men's  souls. 
Thou  canst  confide !  so  blest  art  thou  alone  ! 
Thou  never  art  alone !  for  in  thee  dwell 
All  the  good  genii;  Truth  and  Faith  and  Love 
And  Joy  and  Hope,  dwell   in  thee  without  fear ! 


n. 

Night. 

Heavenly  is  night,  a  miracle  divine ! 

But  loveliest  is  the  part  man  sleeps  away. 

So  almost  meanly  Nature  doth  esteem 

Her  very  greatest  things,  and  holiest, 

That  she  herself  gently  shuts-to  man's  eyes 

From  the  brave  sight,  that  so  she  may  call  forth 

His  sweetest  life,  his  bliss,  his  dream  alone, 

And  by  and  by  she  softly  closes  them 

For  the  last  time  upon  her  majesty, 

Making  her  highest  sacrifice,  —  and  gives 

A  sweeter  sleep,  the  beauteous  sleep  of  death. 

Heavenly  is  night,  a  miracle  of  God ! 

But  loveliest  is  the  night  man  sleeps  away. 


200  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

in. 

"  He  calleth  them  all  by  Name." 

At  dead  of  night,  when,  in  the  magic  dusk, 

The  old  star-grotto  overhead  once  more 

Wide  open  stands,  illimitably  wide, 

And  yet  with  its  far-twinkling  little  lamps 

Sheds  but  a  feeble,  sparse,  and  niggard  light, 

As  if  some  poor  man  might  have  lighted  it, 

So  dim,  as  if  a  child  at  twilight-hour 

Had  lighted  up  his  little  tapers  there, — 

Or  on  the  red-hot  shovel  sprinkled  round 

Fine  brimstone  dust,  which  sparkles  up  and  glows 

With  inexpressible  beauty  in  the  dark,  — 

And  when  a  silence  deep  as  death,  and  holy 

As  death  itself,  through  all  the  grotto  reigns, 

Then,  after  long  and  dumb  astonishment, 

My  blissful  spirit  whispers  in  my  ear :  — 

How  many  thousand  names  one  star  may  have 

On  all  the  many  thousand  stars  around, 

How  some  one  on  the  star  Zubenhakrabi 

May  name  the  star  in  the  Bear,  Kalbeleked,  — 

And  how  Kalbeleked,  in  Benetnasch 

In  Rukkdbah)   in  Ras-Althagne,  sounds, 

And  what  in  KochaVs  speech  is  MarkaVs  name, 

How  many  thousand  names  and  thousand  tongues 

On  all  the  stars  through  the  vast  grotto's  round 

At  once  the  star  Capella  designate, — 

(The  elephant  of  stars,  among  the  lambs, 

Monster,*  'mong  all  the  starry  pasture  feeds), — 

*  The  star  Capella  is  600,000,000  leagues  in  circumference,  and  our  whole 
solar  system,  with  the  intervals  and  orbits  of  its  stars,  would  find  room  and  to 
spare  within  its  girth. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  201 

This  knowledge  brings  no  fruit  to  thee  and  men ; 

To  know  even  how  an  angel  names  the  rose 

With  such  a  name,  as,  drawn  from  Nature's  depth, 

Reveals  at  once  its  very  essence,  too, 

Were  beautiful,  yet  leaves  the  soul  untouched. 

But  ah,  to  know  how  God,  how  God  names  man, 

That  were  momentous  !     Such  a  name   should  thrill 

Through  the  whole  soul,  that  loves  to  feel  itself 

Free,  great,  enduring  as  the  Universe, 

In  primal  beauty  clothed,  and  purity; 

And  full  of  restless  yearning  stirs  itself, 

As  does  the  child  within  the  mother's  womb, 

Or  in  the  tub  the  wine,  when  the  vine  blooms. 

One  word  would  grandly  for  all  earthly  time 

Decide  the  fate  of  earth  :     Does  God  call  man 

Son  ?     Child  ?     Or  does  He  to  a  dead  man  speak, 

Or  of  a  dead  man,  or  of  death,  to  men, 

When  once  again  a  man  comes  home  to  heaven, — 

Does  He  still  call  him  Thou,  or  says  He  "  I  "... 

I  was  on  earth!  —  And  Hope  shall  die  for  joy, 

Shall  fall  down  dead  before  this  oracle : 

"God  was  on  earth!"   that  is  the  name  of  man. 


IV. 

Children  gathering  Strawberries. 

Now  come  the  children  with  their  little  hands 
Full  of  the  red  and  fragrant  strawberry, 
To  them  more  precious  far  than  mines  of  gold ! 
Their  little  clothes  and  fingers  are  perfumed 
With  stains  of  rosy  blood  from  the  ripe  fruit, 
Whereto  heaven's  juices  have  been  so  transformed, 


202  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

It  seems  as  it  had  crept  from  out  the  earth! 

The  children's  mouths  breathe  perfume  as  they  praise 

The  mother  who  has  brought  them  from  the  wood : 

O  look  not  on  this  joy  so  slightingly, 

Nay,  but  with  heightened,  with  divine  delight ! 

The  walk  this  mother  took  has  cost  the  earth 

A  journey  round  the  Sun,  ....  hast  cost  the  Sun 

So  many  thousand  beams  !  .  .  .  .  these  thousand  beams 

How  much  blue  oil,  from  yon  blue  ether  drawn ! 

And  when  thou  once  canst  measure  and  hast  weighed, 

In  thought,  a  single  summer's  godlike  work 

And  godlike  bliss,  —  and  earth's  outlay  and  heaven's, 

Then  hear,  astonished,  this  my  whispered  word: 

The  strawberry  costs  what  a  summer  costs, 

And  what  a  summer  costs   this  Universe, — 

It  is  a  joyous  work  of  that  sore  toil ! 

The  children  are  a  hard  work  of  the  mother, 

The  mother  is  a  hard  work  of  the  earth, 

The  earth  is  a  hard  work  of  the  great  Master,  — 

Now  then  rejoice  once  more  !     With  heavenly  joy ! 

v. 

The  Creation  of  Woman. 

When  woman  came  from  God's  creating  hand, 
When  he  had  finished  now  her  graceful  shape, 
Endowed  her  with  a  soul,  the  effluence 
Of  his  own  pure  and  chaste  and  holy  soul, 
And,  pausing,  looked  aside  with  smiling  face, 
Awaiting  what  would  next  transpire  in  her, 
Then,  as  a  rose  bursts  open  from  the  bud,  — 
A  sudden  glow  suffused  her  cheeks ;   she  wept, 
She  wept,  self-conscious,  at  the  first  fresh  glance 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  203 

Of  her  enchanting  form,  —  that  magic  work 

For  magic  workings ;   and  it  seemed  to  her 

She  were  but  such  a  work,  with  show  of  life, 

With  flowing  hair,  with  eyes  of  brilliant  light 

Endowed,  endowed  to  wander,  —  to  and  fro,  — 

To  fold  with  gentle  pressure  in  her  arms 

A  clearly-presaged  something  to  her  breast, 

To  be  whatever  might  be  made  of  her, 

To  be  whatever  might  become  of  her, — 

Then  she  herself  became  sweet  modesty, 

The  veil  of  her  own  person,  shrinking  shame, 

Which  like  the  invisible  garment  of  a  God, 

And  making  her  invisible,  divinely, 

Divinely  grew  to  be  her  beauteous  self! 

And  now  she  dreamed  that  she  herself  no  more 

Existed,  yet  her  heart  beat  wildly  still! 

And  as  she  thus  before  Him  naked  stood, 

The  Lord  said,  as  if  He,  too,  saw  her  not : 

"Where  art  thou,  woman?"  —  Sinking  at  his  feet, 

She  whispered:     "Here  I  am,  Lord!"  —  and  He  said, 

"So  be  thou!     Soul  self-perfected,  as  I 

Trusted  it  should  be  when  I  gave  it  her. 

Be  for  my  works,  the  greatest  wonder-work; 

Be  for  the  vision,  loveliness ;   for  love, 

Be  love  itself;  —  yet  (and  He  shook  his  head) 

Thou  still  to  me  and  to  thyself  art  naught, 

Art  naught  to  him  who  sees  and  thinks  as  I. 

I  call  thee,  virgin  modesty !   sweet  shame ! 

That  shall  henceforth  be  woman's  name  in  Heaven; 

And  never  in  the  world  forget  thy  name : 

Not  for  the  world !  .  .  .  .  Else  thy  old  sire  shall  weep !  " 

Whoever  now  assails  or  impiously 


204  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Mocks,  scorns,  and  curses  the  divinity 
Of  woman,  —  Virgin  modesty,  sweet  shame, 
And  like  a  faun,  —  a  satyr,  —  thinks  to  catch 
Fair  woman,  when  he  scares  that  guard  away, 
That  bold  blasphemer  has  torn  woman's  name, 
And  over  him  the  old  sire  in  silence  weeps. 


VI. 

God's  Memory. 

'T  would  be  denying  memory  to  God 
To  say,  God  did  not  know,  —  that  man  once  was  ; 
Or  would  not  know  one  day,  that  thou  wast  once 
A  man,  that  He  had  once  been  thou  on  earth, 
That  thou  still  art.     Can  God  forget  what  is  ? 
To  be,  is  to  have  been,  be  going  to  be : 
God,  —  He  is  life  !     Is  everything  that  lives  ! 
And  whatsoe'er  is  dead,  all  that  He  is; 
How  could  God  e'er  forget,  then,  that  He  is! 
And  see  that  thou  forget  it  not,  dear  soul! 


VII. 

Compassion. 

Soft-souled  compassion!    Best,  most  heavenly 
Of  all  the  heavenly  ones,  —  with  thy  good  heart 
What  could'st  thou  be  in  yonder  perfect  Heaven? 
Where  thou,  feeling  with  all,  with  none  could'st  suffer, 
Could'st  dry  no  tear  of  sorrow  for  the  dead, 
Could'st  mitigate  no  grief  o'er  treasures  lost, 
Nor  soothe  the  lost,  forsaken,  and  forlorn, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  205 

Nor  comfort  nor  advise  a  downcast  soul, 

Nor  carry  help  in  need  to  one  poor  man! 

Nothing  art  thou  to  blessed  ones  in  Heaven, 

On  earth  alone  art  goddess,  there  complete ! 

Love  art  thou,  too,  that  pure  original  love : 

In  sorrow's  whelming  flood  the  happy  one 

Who  makest  happy  each  thou  smilest  on, 

For  when  thou  comest,  he  sees  heaven  open, 

Sees  in  thy  person  all  the  gods  draw  near, 

He  sees  them  weep  over  a  mortal  man. 

And  all  is  well  now,  —  some  one  pities  him  ! 

Thou  art  from  Heaven,  —  and  yet  thou  dwellest  here! 

Here,  thou  art  blest,  and  blest  is  man  through  thee ! 

—  And  should  one  day  unalterable  health 

Part  thee  from  man,  now  grown  so  dear  to  thee, 

Part  men  from  thee,  now  grown  so  dear  to  them, 

Then  scarce  could  Heaven  with  all  its  treasures  give 

One  to  make  good  thy  place,  their  truest  friend, 

The  fond  and  fair  companion  of  their  woe ; 

And  but  one  longing  would  remain, — for  thee! 

Thou  givest  me  thy  hand?  —  dost  weep  e'en  now? 

Dost  look  upon  me  with  thy  beauteous  eyes, 

Sweet  sadness  hovering  about  thy  lips, 

And  hid'st  thy  trembling  head  upon  my  breast? 

Courage  !  —  We  shall  not  part !   not  yet !  not  we ! 


VIII. 

Optimism. 

Thou  human  soul,  thou  art  the  heavenly  one  ! 
And  helping,  soothing,  is  a  rare  delight ! 
Man  is  made  richer  than  the  gods  themselves 


206  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

By  pain  and  agony,  by  tears,  by  death, — 

In  and  beside  long,  full  felicity. 

The  earth  is  made  a  perfect  thing  by  love, 

By  love  is  man  himself  made  perfect,  too. 

Life  will  be  always  what  it  is  to-day, 

Else  were  't  not  so !    Else  God  had  wrought  in  vain 


IX. 
TTie  universal  Will. 

Whatever  thou  beholdest,  and  wherever, 

In  the  wide  circle  of  humanity, 

Is  only  Will;   yet  not  a  stony  will, 

But  one  that  enters  into  life  and  earth, 

One  that  comes  forth  with  man's  and  Nature's  force, 

That  woven  and  working  deep,  with  mystic  strength 

Now  deals  a  visible  blow,  amazing  thee : 

Yet  no  less  valid  out  in  Nature  and 

As  Nature,  still  is  ever  only:    Will! 

See  now  the  huts  of  men  in  yonder  field ! 

Behold  the  city's  walls  and  battlements  ! 

See  yonder  the  old  towers  and  temples,  there 

Mark  the  gray  arches  of  the  aqueduct, 

See  up  on  yonder  hill  the  windmill's  wings 

That  rise  so  softly  in  the  evening-red, — 

They  all  are  just  the  same  old  human  will. 

I  see,  too,  brides  walk  by, — young  women,  too, 

Now  pale  ones,  moving  slow,  with  heavy  gait, — 

And  mothers  now,  —  with  children  by  the  hand, 

Who  carry  to  some  neighbor  wreaths  of  flowers ; 

In  them,  too,  simply  has  a  will  been  done ! 

And  now,  methinks,  if  with  the  self-same  eyes 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  207 

Thou  would'st  one  little  moment  look  aside, — 

And  through  the  space  between  those  human  towers, — 

Would'st  in  those  mountains,  still  as  pictures  now, 

There  also  recognize  no  less  a  will! 

One  Being's  Will !  and  if  in  yonder  cloud 

Which  a  light  breath  sweeps  by  in  heaven  so  fast,  — 

As  if  it  had,  so  late,  still  far  to  go, — 

Thou  also  would'st  observe  the  self-same  will, 

Observe  it  in  the  stream,  and  in  the  sun, 

And  in  the  flowers  all  round  about  thy  feet, 

And  when  thou  hast  descried  a  will  in  all 

That  is  in  heaven  as  well  as  on  the  earth, 

Haply,  ay,  certainly,  —  and  with  what  joy!  — 

Then  shall  the  veil  fall  softly  from  thy  eyes, 

And  in  the  will  of  all  and  each  of  these 

Thou  shalt  discern  the  will  of  One  alone, 

Who,  dwelling  in  the  whole,  as  gently  wills, 

As  surely,  as  thou  wiliest  in  thy  brain ! 

Who  bears  along  as  lightly  earth  and  heaven 

As  the  soft  breeze  bears  yonder  the  light  cloud ! 


x. 

Sundown. 

The  Sun  is  down!  —  And  yet  with  magic  power 
Still  holds  aloft  the  rainbow  in  the  air, 
Which  without  columns  stands  as  on  a  thousand, 
And  lends  a  grace  to  heaven  and  joy  to  man. 
—  How  shines  on  us  the  power  of  olden  days ! 
Arches  across  the  heaven !   and  sways  the  earth  ! 
The  lingering  glow  of  long,  long  sunken  suns 
Gleams  o'er  us  yet;   an  influence  touches  us 


208  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Of  spirits  long  since  vanished  from  the  earth ; 

And  we  too,  when  we  long  have  passed  away, 

Shall  touch  the  generations  yet  to  come 

With  spirit-power  and  be  what  once  was  "  we ! " 

Become,  what  has,  as  power,  gone  forth  from  us ! 

The  good  man  has  a  long  and  mighty  arm, 

Far  longer  than  the  outstretched  "  hand  of  kings  " ; 

For  good  men's  kingdom  is  the  Universe ! 


XI. 

Causes. 

Of  many  things  and  incidents  we  seem 

To  see  a  clear  beginning,  —  only  seem, 

We  see  it  not !     Beyond  us  evermore 

It  lies  far  off,  deep  in  the  abyss  of  time. 

Of  all  that  makes  the  Universe  of  things 

Each  to  each  other  ever  lives,  and  near. 

Still  floats  with  mighty  echo  every  word, 

Still  points  with  mighty  meaning  from  the  grave 

Each  dead  man's  hand  into  the  present  day, 

To-morrow,  and  the  last  of  earthly  days. 

The  lightest  cloud,  the  briefest  breath  that  curls 

And  vanishes,  —  the  lightest  blade  of  grass, 

Have  seed  and  growth,  direction  and  effect 

In  the  long-buried,  silent,  holy  grave 

Of  the  elements,  the  power-crammed  Universe, 

For  which  in  turn  the  little  grass-blade  lives, 

The  cloudlet  sails,  the  light  air  stirs  and  dies! 

Just  as,  in  years  long  since  gone  by,  the  storms 

Bowed  down  the  branches,  so  they  stand  to-day, 

As  if  struck  stiff  by  sense  of  holy  power, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  209 

Before  the  Lord's  behest,  and  so  they  bloom ! 
The  course  of  things  seems  free,  too,  flexible, 
Controllable,  —  yet  sternly  sweeps  us  on  ! 
As  others  thought  before  us,  as  they  did, 
And  were  disposed,  so  are  we  wrought  upon 
By  them  to-day,  and  so  we  carry  on 
Their  work,  and  blend  our  influence  with  theirs. 
There  is  a  web,  invisible,  but  firm, 
That,  woven  round  us  by  a  spirit's  hand, 
Entwines  inextricably  every  head ; 
Man,  too,  is  but  a  product  of  the  time, 
A  fruit  of  the  great  life-tree  full  of  fruits, 
And  none  escapes  the  spirit  of  the  world, — 
Full  of  mild  power  is  the  mild  Universe, 
And  one  thing  only  is  our  own,  —  our  heart ! 


XII. 
Fate  and  Freedom. 

Believe  not  in  necessity  and  fate, 
But  in  constraint  at  most,  if  thou  art  weak 
Dost  ill  and  wrong,  nor  honorest  social  force. 
Fate  is  the  spider  in  the  web  which  all 
Free  wills  and  individual  powers  have  spun  : 
She  has  not  made  the  web,  the  web  makes  her. 
Yet  't  is  all  one ;   although  no  spider  's  there, 
We  fall  into  the  net  and  perish  still,  .... 
And  still  live  on,  ....  in  misery,  —  or  in  bliss. 
Caught  in  this  web,  each  flutters  round  and  round, 
Buzzes  and  struggles,  and  whoso  has  much 
Pure  will  and  vital  force  lives  longer  there, 
And  even  the  good  man  bears  the  bad  man's  will 

N 


210  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

In  token  that  Humanity  is  man  ! 

By  liberty  is  man  alone  oppressed! 

And  yet  to  feel  oppressed  by  liberty, 

Art  thou  ashamed,  for  reverence  of  thy  lot, 

Till  all  men's  freedom  is  the  good  of  all. 


XIII. 

Divine  Metamorphosis. 

Whether  the  gold  ring  is  destructible, 

If  wise,  thou  provest  simply  by  the  gold. 

How  can  a  ring  grow  ever  into  gold! 

Inquire  then:     Can  the  gold  become  a  ring? 

And  then,  if  man  was  not  made  out  of  air, 

Inquire :     Can  God  take  flesh  and  be  a  man  ? 

The  immortal  one  appear  in  mortal  shape  ? 

And  He  appears,  —  Thou  art!     God  is  made  man. 

And  how  the  gold  can  run  into  a  ring 

That  the  old  art  of  the  old  Master  knows, 

Skilled  to  transform  himself,  make  himself  small, 

Shiver  himself  to  splinters,  diamond-like, . 

And  then  to  a  great  diamond  grow  again, — 

Seem  mortal,  being  immortal  all  the  while. 

—  And  knows  He  not  that  art,  —  what  does  He  know, 

What  can  He  do,  —  He  who  is  all  in  all ! 


XIV. 
Earth  the  Home  of  Man. 

Earth  is  the  home  of  man,  there  still  he  finds 
His  homestead  ;   even  though  on  other  stars 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  211 

Were  living  other  beings  like  himself. 

The  soul  is  not  the  man,  the  body  is  not 

The  man ;   to  make  him  soul  and  body  join ; 

For  soul  is  equally  all  else  that  lives  ; 

Soul  in  a  human  body  is  the  man. 

Thus  is  the  earth  his  fair  and  goodly  home, 

His  workshop  for  his  individual  life. 

The  heavenly  spirit  lives  on  earth,  and  man, 

Inhabitant  of  earth,  yet  lives  in  heaven. 

That  which  is  one,  is  always  like  itself, 

And  what  is  like  itself  is  one  and  whole. 

The  water-drop  cleaves  to  the  water-drop 

With  ease  and  joy,  as  brother  does  to  brother ; 

The  river  seeks  the  ocean,  as  a  child 

Runs  to  its  mother;   up  to  heaven's  blue  sea 

The  dew  ascends,  as  to  its  ancient  sire ; 

The  iron  to  the  magnet  flies  and  clings 

As  to  its  Saviour,  and  the  swallow  hies 

Into  strange  countries,  as  if  hastening  home. 

Ay!     Look  abroad!   with  what  a  rapturous, 

Heart-thrilling  bliss,  all  feels  itself  at  home ! 

The  fragrant  lindens,  in  their  rustling  green, 

They  are  at  home  !  .  .  .  .  these  blushing  rose-bushes, 

They  are  at  home!  ....  these  lambkins  on  the  mead, 

They  are  at  home!     And  nowhere,  nowhere  else 

Are  they  at  home.     As  little  children  run 

Into  their  father's  garden;    with  soft  voice 

He  calls  them,  and  they  hasten  like  the  clouds  ! 

—  And  yonder  cloud  is  only  here  at  home,  — 

'T  is  everywhere  the  self-same  Father's-call ; 

The  same  obedience  of  the  loving  child ! 

And  everywhere  the  one  great  common  home, 

The  Father's  home  and  all  the  children's,  all! 


212  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  in  the  great  home  each  one  has  his  own 

Peculiar  and  familiar  little  home : 

The  nest,  the  house,  the  grove,  the  brook,  the  sea  ! 

The  head,  the  body,  the  blue  sky,  the  stars! 

The  mussel  has  the  handsome  golden  shells ! 

The  nut's  sweet  kernel  has  the  rich  brown  shells! 

The  jet-black  apple-seed  within  its  core, 

Its  apple :    white  world  of  white  apple-flesh,  .... 

The  purple  heaven  with  its  lustrous  stripes: 

The  spicy  rind  redolent  of  dewy  eves, 

And  with  its  brothers  in  the  nursery  dwells 

Confidingly  as  man  abides  in  his, — 

The  body,  which  in  stuff  is  like  the  all ; 

And  all,  throughout  the  Universe,  inhabits 

Its  nursery:    the  spirit,  which  is  like 

In  essence  to  the  universal  spirit, 

And  to  each  ray  the  spirit-sun  darts  forth, 

And  God  is  God  in  heaven  and  on  earth. 


XV. 

A  Lesson  from  the  Sun. 

Behold  the  Sun  at  morning  and  at  eve  ! 

The  sun  knows  naught  of  thee,  he  sees  thee  not, 

And  yet  he  does  thee  and  will  do  thee  good. 

He  signals  with  vast  might  out  through  the  blue  ; 

Spends  he  his  good  on  the  blue  void  alone  ? 

He  hits  his  mark!     He  grows  in  man  and  flower 

And  blossom,  to  the  ocean's  deepest  bed, 

Nor  is  one  ray  in  all  its  journeyings  lost ! 

And  thou  must  know  to  whom  thou  doest  good  ? 

To  distant  strangers  wilt  refuse  thy  love? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

To  men  and  flowers  that  come  long  after  thee  ? 

And  dost  thou  truly  know  the  very  man 

Who  stands  before  thee  ?     Were  he  in  himself 

No  mystery,  he  would  still  be  such  to  thee. 

For  when  thy  being  is  completely  filled 

With  goodness  and  with  love  to  him,  believe  me, 

Thou  seest  him  not,  as  the  sun  sees  thee  not, 

For  glow  of  heavenly  warmth  and  perfect  light : 

Thou  need'st  but  this  to  glad  thee !   that  he  is  ! 

The  rose  is  gloriously  rewarded  for 

Her  fragrance  by  exhaling  ;    and  the  Sun 

For  his  effulgence,  by  the  light !     And  man 

For  all  his  loving  finds  a  rich  reward 

In  love  itself;    man  is  repaid  for  life 

Amply  by  living.     Learn  thou  this  of  Heaven  ! 

And  learn  it  too  on  earth,  from  all  thou  dost ! 

Distinguish  no  one,  then,  of  all  that  live  ! 

Not  him  who  names  himself  thy  foe,  or  friend  ; 

Distinguish  naught  that  lives  :    let  fruit  and  tree 

Be  one  to  thee,  the  shepherd  and  his  flock, 

The  lambkin  and  the  grass,  the  grass  and  dew, 

The  dew  and  its  refulgence.     In  the  midst 

Of  the  vast  universe  of  love,  unmoved, 

Keep  thou  thy  place !   and  only  live  and  love  ! 

Behold  the  Sun  at  morning  and  at  eve  / 


XVI. 
Be  -worthy  of  thy  Place. 

Whate'er  deserves  not  that  the  sun  should  shine, 
That  God  should  have  invented  light,  and  framed 
The  eye  so  magically;  whatsoe'er 


213 


2i4  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Deserves  not  that  the  earth  should  roll  through  heaven, 

That  God  should  have  created  sound,  contrived 

So  curiously  the  labyrinth  of  the  ear, 

Deserves  not  that  the  little  hammer's  blow 

With  spirit's  tongues  should  tell  it  to  the  soul ; 

Whate'er  deserves  not  that  thy  heart  should  beat, — 

That  thou  should'st  be  a  man,  that  through  the  world 

A  moral  sense  should  thrill;    whate'er  deserves  not 

That  God  should  be,  or  that  the  hand  should  be, 

—  The  Master's  masterpiece,  — #//  that,  dear  man! 

Do  thou  not  see  nor  hear,  nor  do  nor  think! 

Far  better  were  it  that  the  soul's  pure  bell 

Should  swing  in  peace  and  silence,  than  announce 

E'en  that  which  is  unworthy  earth,  instead 

Of  gladdening  Heaven,  to  the  immortal  ears. 

Whate'er  is  worthy  of  thy  being  man,  — 

Of  God's  being  God, —  that  see,  do,  hear,  and  think! 

And  if  thou  canst  not  close  thy  eyes  nor  ears 

Then  look  upon  it  with  the  eyes  of  God ! 

So  looks  the  sun  pure  and  serene  on  all: 

For  't  is  an  easy  thing  to  hear  and  see 

What  is  divine;  the  very  child,  the  beast, 

The  villain  can  and  does  and  must  do  that ; 

But  to  behold,  to  hear  divinely,  that 

Is  hard  for  mortal  man!   who  thinks,  forsooth, 

To  die,  — thinks,  without  God,  to  be  a  man! 

Yet  easy  is  it,  like  all  hard  things,  to  him 

W7ho  recognizes  Him  as  his  true  Self, 

Who  is  the  man  within  him,  and  so  now 

Has  come  to  know  himself  and  be  himself. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  215 

XVII. 

The  least  is  great. 

What,  now,  is  worthy  aught  should  be?  and  all? 

That  all  the  stars  should  wheel  in  heaven  above, 

That  thou  should'st  have  come  forth  here  on  the  earth 

From  deep,  unutterable  wonders,  full, 

Thyself,  of  wonders,  as  a  man  ?     What  is  it  ? 

This,  unmistakably:     That  thou  art  man, 

And  that  thou  dost  the  smallest  human  thing! 

That  thou  instructest,  warnest,  clothest  children  ; 

That  to  the  well  thou  takest  daily  steps 

For  water;    that  thou  eatest,  sleepest,  toilest, 

Art  glad  and  grieved,  even  as  men  are  glad 

And  grieved.     The  very  word  within  thy  mouth 

Whereby  thou  comfortest  to  life  again 

A  sad  one,  — yea,  the  rod  within  thy  hand, 

Wherewith  thou  chastenest  thy  little  ones, 

Is  worthy  that  a  holy  law  should  be, 

(It  is  itself  the  law  incarnated,) 

Is  worthy,  day  and  earth  and  heaven  should  be 

(It  is  the  world  made  into  life,  the  right 

The  genuine  world),  —  is  worthy  that  in  Heaven 

There  should  be  joy,  —  yea,  worthy  God  should  be : 

For  he  is  Lord  and  Master  of  all  good, 

Father  of  life  is  He,  and  Life  itself. 

XVIII. 
Theology  of  the  Hand. 

Look  on  thy  hand,  and  tell  me  now,  I  pray: 
Whence  comes  thy  power  to  raise  a  finger  there  ? 


2i6  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Now  get  thee  to  the  desert,  pray  and  fast, 

Search,  speculate,  guess,  prove,  and  make  research. 

Investigate  all  powers,  explore  all  wonders, 

The  mystery  of  will,  thy  will,  a  will. 

Yet  wilt  thou  never  know  the  holy  power, 

The  Omnipotence  of  metamorphoses, 

The  duplicating  power,  the  one  in  two, 

The  one  in  thousands  and  as  thousands,  nor 

The  thousands  joined  as  one,  until  thou  say'st: 

"  'T  is  I  myself  that  make  my  finger  move." 

"  Myself  am  I."     The  Word  createth  man, 

Creates  the  world.     Thou  art ;   there  is  a  God. 

The  Word  destroys  too   the  created  world, 

And  speaks  of  Being,  its  Nature,  of  existence 

As  Nature,  and  "of  Nature  as  existence, 

As  Being,  and  of  Self,  as  I  and  Thou. 

Now  raise  thy  finger  and  point  up  and  say : 

"  He  there  on  high  has  formed  me  here  below." 

Then  fold  thy  hands  and  pray  and  utter  thanks  ! 

He  who  cannot  give  thanks,  feels  not  himself,  — 

Gratitude  is  the  highest  joy,  —  existence. 

The  beggar  thanks  thee,  —  now  he  lives,  —  and  thou! 

And  some  One  else  who  takes  a  silent  joy, 

In  secret,  and  who,  as  a  tear  of  joy, 

Flows  softly  from  the  eyes  of  both  of  you ; 

Nothing  but  Love  itself  believes  in  Love, 

And  love  is  only  clear  self-consciousness; 

Yet  if  a  man  might  venture  to  name  God, 

Ah,  then  would  I  name  Him  with  lowliness : 

Primeval  source  of  maiden  modesty ! 

And  now  I  hide  and  bury  my  two  eyes 

With  both  my  hands  and  disappear  for  shame. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  217 

XIX. 

The  delicate  Mystery  of  God. 

"  The  deep  of  wonders  no  man  penetrates." 
What  if  that  deep  has  penetrated  man ! 
If  He  should  be  the  all,  the  Apocalypse  ! 
"  And  on  what  star  alone  dwells  all  the  Truth  ? 
And  in  what  man  ? "  —  The  earth  is  but  a  star,  .... 
A  star  is  but  a  word  of  the  long  speech 
That  has  gone  forth  out  of  the  mouth  of  God 
And  still  is  going.     See,  hear,  how  it  speaks  ! 
Thou  seest  that  breath  stream  yonder  like  white  frost, — 
They  call  it  Milky  Way  in  mortal  speech  ; 
And  every  flower  that  the  child  only  plucks, — 
And  the  lamb  plucks  to  pieces,  —  to  the  heart 
Of  him  whose  thought  has  taught  him  to  believe 
In  revelation,  as  impressively, 
As  softly,  silently,  and  solemnly, 
And  audibly  speaks  forth  the  self-same  word. 
That  which  agrees  with  all  things  else  is  true  ; 
Yet  know  thou,  truth  is  not  an  empty  show, 
Truth  is  a  real  being,  not  a  thought ; 
There  is  then  but  One  Truth  :    the  Universe ! 
God !     God  himself  is  Truth,  and  God  is  true  ; 
Yet  be  thou  also  true  and  truthful,  —  godlike; 
It  is  impossible  to  enunciate  God! 
Therefore  has  no  one  yet  declared  "the  Truth." 
Accord  thou  with  the  all,  then  art  thou  true. 
To  do  the  truth,  —  would  be  creating  God. 
Truth    must    be    seen,     heard,    felt,    loved,    sought,    ex 
plored  ! 
Explore  thou  it!  —  For  nothing  else  is  life 


2i8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Than  to  explore,  more  and  more  deeply  know, 

Behold,  hear,  love,  and  feel  the  all-present  God. 

"I  am  a  mouth  of  Truth,"  say  thus  at  most, 

"  I  have  a  heart,  I  have  a  spirit  and  zeal 

And  every  drop  of  blood  to  give  the  truth." 

So  saying  thou  speakest  rightly.     But  to  say, 

"  I  am  the  Truth,"  that  is  a  word  from  which 

The  very  God  himself  might  shrink  abashed, 

The  modest  one  who  fills  the  Universe,*  — 

Yet  steals  as  gently,  softly,  secretly, 

Into  the  bosom  of  a  new-born  child 

As  into  the  low  violet,  violet  scent! 

And  then  just  breathes  out  thence  as  from  his  cup ! 


XX. 

The  Spectators  of  Nature. 

Who  is  it  that  shall  come,  to  witness  here 

Full-glowing  summer's  pomp  and  majesty? 

Surely  a  monarch  from  the  sun  o'erhead, 

A  king  of  many  stars,  come  down  from  Heaven, 

A  god  with  wife  and  children  at  his  side, 

And  retinue  of  connoisseurs  divine,  — 

To  estimate  and  honor  such  a  work! 

Who  will,  who  shall,  then,  haply,  buy  the  earth, 

That  she  so  stands  oppressed  with  finery! 

For,  sure,  no  dead  one  from  the  giant  age 

Of  earth,  no  one  of  her  dead  heroes  all, 

Of  her  dead  men,  were  worthy  that  the  earth 

Should  loose  him  from  the  grave,  —  to  see  this  pomp !  - 

The  very  best  would  not  deserve  an  hour 

*  "God  fills  the  Universe,  silently  and  without  noise."  —  SOUTH.     TR. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  219 

The  sweet  life  in  the  lap  of  beauty  here 

As  pleasure  paid  for  pains  of  past  exploits ! 

For  how  industriously  have  storm  and  winds, 

Like  tireless  and  strong-chested  servants,  worked 

Till  they  were  breathless,  sweeping  the  green  hall 

Of  earth,  till  each  old  leaf  was  hustled  off, 

Huddled  away  in  pit  or  stream  or  pond ; 

How  have  the  clouds  in  fetching  water  toiled, 

To  speed  the  growth  of  all  the  thousand  flowers ! 

And  dropped  soft  drops  to  lay  each  speck  of  dust ! 

How  oft  have  thunder-clouds  at  morn  and  eve 

And  night  filled  all  the  fields  with  fragrant  steam! 

How  long  invisible  spirit-hands  have  wrought 

Day  after  day  in  sunshine,  and  by  night 

In  the  bright  moonshine,  and  in  darkness  too 

Beneath  the  silent  veil  of  mist,  to  hang 

Green  leaves  on  each  least  twig  of  every  tree  ! 

And  now  -the  golden  fruits  among  the  leaves ! 

How  richly  decked  the  mountains  to  their  crowns  ! 

How  have  they  waked  the  chafers,  summoned  up 

The  merry  birds  with  silver  voices  all, 

Yea,  driven  them  into  these  magic  grounds  ; 

And  even  sent  away  each  little  cloud, 

Like  children,  that  the  spacious  hall  of  heaven 

May  shine  unstained  in  azure-brilliancy, — 

And  see,  in  azure-brilliancy  it  shines ! 

Pure  as  a  drop  of  water,  gleams  the  Sun, 

And  all  has  now  been  ready  days  and  days !  — 

And  no  one  comes  convoyed  from  yonder  heaven,  — 

On  wingdd  steeds  comes  riding  through  the  air, — 

To  see  here  all  the  summer-majesty! 

And  we  are  plainly  left  here  all  alone, 

All  by  ourselves !  —  There  's  no  one  more  to  come ! 


220  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

What  rises  yonder  is  but  a  white  cloud, — 

Disguised  as  a  great  goddess  to  the  eye. 

Yet  breezes  waft  e'en  now  the  lovely  head 

Off  from  her  shoulder  !     And  the  head  sails  off! 

The  goddess  sails  away !  and  melts  to  fleece  ! 

Then  lost  in  musing  I  cast  down  my  eyes  ! 

Then  my  blest  spirit,  explaining,  says  at  last : 

"  Expect  no  longer  gods  from  yonder  height ! 

Expect  no  longer  any  other  guests  ! 

All  have  long  since  arrived.     The  nightingales, 

The  roses  and  the  lilies  and  the  pinks, 

The  stork,  the  crane,  the  swallow,  and  the  thrush, 

The  starling,  too,  and  all  the  summer-birds, 

The  fields  all  full  of  glad  and  quivering  stalks, 

The  lands  and  all  the  woodlands  full  of  beasts, 

The  waters  full  of  dumb,  enormous  brutes, 

And  the  invisible  ones,  —  the  innumerable 

In  every  drop  of  water,  grain  of  dust ! 

The  ancient  guest  —  now  almost  host  —  of  earth 

Is  present :    man,  who  comes  and  comes  again 

As  child,  —  O  only  see  them  there  at  play, 

How  lively,  how  ecstatic  is  their  joy  ! 

Ye  all  are  the  true  guests  here,  all  of  you  ! 

The  master's  works,  —  they  are  themselves  the  guests, 

Are  his  spectators  and  his  hearers.     They, 

They  are  the  blest  and  honored  ones  for  whom, 

And  through  whom,  He  has  made  these  wonders  all 

So  beautiful,  themselves  so  beautiful! 

Ay,  see  yet  more !     Nay,  mark  but  this  one  thing  : 

Creation's  works  are  after  all  His  works, 

They  are  his  living  ones  :    his  beauteous  life, 

His  very  traits  of  character,  his  soul ! 

The  only  merit  therefore  is  :    existence  ; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  221 

The  greatest  wisdom,  simple  life  itself; 

Whoever  lives  fulfils  a  godlike  task, 

A  heavenly  one,  with  art  divine,  and  clear 

Intelligence  !   and  then  and  only  then 

Richly  and  wholly,  when  his  heart  is  set 

Purely  to  do,  not  scrutinize  his  work. 

Behold  the  happy  mother-swallow  there  : 

She  leads  her  children  out  to-day.     Five  children 

At  once !   out  of  five  quiet  little  eggs  ; 

And  forth  now  fly  the  fledglings  from  the  nest 

Following  their  parents  to  inspect  the  hall 

With  their  own  eyes,  wherein  they  have  just  waked, 

Not  wonder-struck,  not  secretly  surprised, 

Only  already  tired  with  their  short  flight, 

They  now  sit  down.     The  sun  shines  down  on  them, 

The  mother  sings  to  them,  the  father  brings 

The  food  he"  has  picked  up,  and  feeds  them  with  it, 

And  twitters.     Lo  !     These  are  the  summer's  guests  ! 

They  spring  forth  from  the  earth  and  from  the  heavens 

Freely  as  tears  of  joy  gush  from  thy  eyes  ! 

For  joy  most  deeply  touches  human  hearts,  — 

Yet  look  around,  —  not  human  hearts  alone  /  " 


XXI. 

The  Swallow's  Message. 

Thou  hear'st  the  swallow  in  the  hush  of  night 

As  in  her  nest  she  whispers  to  her  young. 

By  many  a  human  mother  thou  hast  known 

Already,  what  the  swallow-mother  says  : 

'•  Be  quiet,  little  darling,  I  am  by, 

I  take  good  care  of  thee,  I  bring  thee  food, 


222  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

I  stay  with  thee,  my  darling  child,  be  still." 
Thus  has  the  swallow  spoke  these  hundred  years,  - 
Thus  has  the  swallow  spoke  these  thousand  years, 
Thou  art  not  listening  up  the  swallow's  breast, 
Thou  'rt  listening  to  the  cry  of  Nature's  soul ! 
Thou  hearest  in  this  song  the  eternal  word,  — 
Hear'st  in  this  mother  the  eternal  woman, 
Awe-struck  to  feel  so  near  the  Mighty  One! 
She  has  come  down  into  the  passing  times  ! 
And  she  twines  round  thee  in  sublime  embrace, 
She  draws  thee  up  to  the  primeval  breast, 
Thou  livest  in  her  pure  felicity. 
Thou  are  not  a  mere  name,  O  man,  inscribed 
On  the  sarcophagus  of  Nature  !     Not 
A  half-formed  sculpture  !     Round,  original,  free, 
Thou  liv'st  the  life  of  Nature.     Thou  art  she, 
And  she  is  thou,  and  thy  word  is  her  word, 
And  what  thou  feelest,  that  she  feels  and  is. 
Thou  speakest  nothing  after  her,  she  speaks 
In  thee  ;    yet  canst  thou  say  :    I,  I  say  this ! 
For  without  thee  the  mighty  one  were  not, 
Were  null,  were  naught,  and  with  her  thou  art  all. 


XXII. 

Man's  Pride  humbled. 

Self-analyzed,  and  laid  out  piece  by  piece,  — 
As  on  a  carpet,  broad  and  beautiful, 
Worked  full  of  myriad  animals  and  flowers, 
All  full  of  living,  calmly  busy  works, 
And  yet  bound  fast  together  by  the  woof,  — 
Such  Nature  is  !   and  basks  in  endless  suns. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Each  of  her  individual  traits  makes  out 

A  separate  being ;   yea,  a  separate  being,  — 

A  new  and  different  world  seems  brought  to  life. 

Now  man's  peculiar  character  and  charm 

Is  kindness.     This  it  is  distinguishes 

Him  from  the  trees,  the  flowers,  and  even  from  all 

The  animals,  from  sun  and  moon  and  stars, 

Yet  without  giving  him  the  right  to  feel 

That  he  is  better  than  the  very  stone. 

For  nothing  can  be  better  than  divine ; 

And  what  exists,  is  Nature's  very  self. 

And  each,  as  Nature,  is  a  perfect  thing, 

Else  were  the  universe  a  monstrous  crime, 

An  outrage  multiplied  a  thousand  times. 

Now  dream,  the  judgment-day  at  last  has  come, — 

A  May-field  where  one  Lord  in  judgment  sits, 

And  hear  now  what  the  deaf,  blind  creatures  say  : 

Lord,  I,  —  I  was  on  earth  a  thistle-bush, 

And  I  have  borne  a  thistle-bush's  lot : 

For  that  I  justly  now  claim  my  reward  ! 

—  And  I,  Lord,  I  have  been  a  dromedary, 
And  sorely  fared,  as  dromedaries  do : 
And  justly  now  claim  my  reward  therefor! 

—  And  I,  Lord,  I  have  been  a  stupid  hake, 

And  must  henceforth  discourse  with  angels'  tongues  ! 

—  And  I,  lo  !  I  was  actually  a  frog,  — 
And  so  must  now  become  a  god  at  least ! 
And  like  a  choir  of  maniacs  all  cry  out  : 
"  For  whoso  was  a  least  one,  he  of  all, 
Deserves  henceforth  to  be  a  highest  one  !  " 

On  such  a  claim  comes  man,  in  turn,  and  says  : 

—  And  I  have  been  a  man,  have  loved  and  lived 
Happy  ofttimes,  for  the  most  part  unhappy 


223 


224 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


For  very  love  and  kindness  ;   yet,  O  Lord ! 

The  frog  himself  demands  —  to  be  a  god  ! 

But  I  have  been  a  man  and  I  have  loved, — 

How  I  have  loved  thee,  thou  dost  know  full  well ! 

—  And  thus  in  stern  reproof  the  Eternal  Love : 

Verily,  hast  thou  ?     Art  thou  all  thou  sayst  ? 

And  have  you  all?     And  were  you  all  such?     Alll 

/  have  so  clone,  so  been.     What  shall  I  be, 

But  be  !   abide !     Be  and  abide  in  me. 

He  rises  from  the  golden  judgment-seat, 

And  all  have  learned  from  Him  a  thoughtful  mind. 


XXIII. 
Against  Witchcraft. 

How  shall  the  spyglass  help  thee  in  a  aream, 

That  like  the  deep  flower-gardens  of  the  sea, 

The  dreamy  shapes  shall  thus  be  clearly  seen  ? 

In  sleep's  delirium  the  speaking  trumpet 

Carry  thy  voice  to  Minos  on  his  throne  ? 

Or  the  ear-trumpet  help  thee  hear  the  stars  ? 

—  They  shall  not  even  help  thee  truly  dream, 

No  more  shall  thy  dark  shadow-webs  of  dream, 

Woven  by  daylight,  in  the  noonday  sun, 

And  those  delirious  words  for  living  ones  ! 

"  Thou  shalt  not  practise  witchcraft !  "    Then  thou  canst. 

Thou  shalt  not  deal  in  charms !     For  the  great  Master 

Has  charmed  thee  now  as  much  as  seemed  him  good ! 

The  gracious  apparitions  of  the  earth, 

Wife,  child,  are  wonders  quite  enough  for  thee  ; 

The  realm  of  sunshine  is  the  place  for  man, 

The  house  of  life  and  not  its  workshop,  —  that 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Is  thy  delirium,  sleep  in  open  day, 

And  even  the  sun  meanwhile  is  quenched  for  thee  ! 

Thy  very  body  falls  meanwhile  to  dust ! 

When  sober,  too,  thou  canst  believe  on  God! 

But  drunkards  believe  only  in  their  wine- 


XXIV. 

The  Voyage  of  Night. 

Now  thou  embarkest  in  the  skiff  of  night, 

Leaving  a  land  thou  ne'er  shalt  see  again  : 

The  day  that  softly  died  !   and  wondrously, 

By  merely  a  black  veil  drawn  over  it, 

'T  is  buried  in  the  light  and  fleeting  air  ; 

And  yet  it  is  as  surely  buried,  there, 

As  is  the  loveliest  youth  men  laid  in  earth  ; 

The  motley  thread  of  Day  is  all  reeled  up 

By  his  great  Mother  Sun,  who  spun  him,  too, 

On  that  fast-swelling,  and  e'en  now  so  full 

Cocoon,  the  Earth.     And  thou  now  sailest  on, 

Wafted  along  so  softly,  tranquilly, 

Through  a  blue,  dusky,  glimmering  grotto  full 

Of  little  lamps,  that  shine  so  soft  and  fair, 

The  very  largest  of  them  dazzles  not 

Thine  eye  (light-veiled  beneath  the  sheltering  lid), 

With  its  pure  gold,  its  ruby,  and  pale-green. 

Like  dew  of  heaven  they  hang  there  in  the  sky 

And  play  soft  colors  and  mild  brilliancy. 

And  on  the  broad  expanse  of  hovering, 

Of  busy,  twinkling  drops,  that  child  of  light, 

The  great  white  rainbow,*  in  the  grotto  rests  ; 

*  The  Milky  Way. 


225 


226  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  drops  send  forth  no  song,  —  they  live  all  still, 

Crowded  and  swarming -with  invisible  beings, 

Yet  full  as  every  drop  is  full  of  ether. 

Through  all  the  grotto  scarce  a  whisper  stirs, 

Or  a  fresh  breath  !  scarcely  at  times  there  darts 

Far  into  secret  depths  a  golden  gleam, 

And  trails  its  lovely  fire  behind  its  path. 

So  through  long  times,  how  long,  thou  knowest  not, 

Through  far,  far,  trackless  space  thou  sailest  on. 

Meanwhile  come  swimming,  as  from  blessed  shores, 

To  meet  and  greet  thee  new  and  wondrous  flowers, 

Signs  of  new  land  approaching,  purple  streaks 

And  auburn  gold  in  mists  of  fragrance  veiled, 

And  growing  ever  clearer  and  more  clear, 

The  grotto  lights  itself  by  slow  degrees, 

Transfigured  wondrously  before  thine  eyes  ! 

It  grows  itself,  to  a  wide  exit-gate  ! 

It  grows,  itself,  to  a  new  land  for  thee  ! 

And  deeply  blest  thou  sweepest  on  to  meet 

The  coast,  and  ere  thou  thoughtest,  there  it  lies  ; 

Clear,  stirring,  morning-red,  and  morning-fair, 

Like  an  enchanted  garden  full  of  roses  !  — 

It  is  the  unmistakably  present  shore, 

Never  before  beheld,  of  the  new  day ! 

Thou  disembarkest  now  and  enterest, 

As  if  it  were  thine  own  familiar  house,  — 

A  realm,  divinely  new,  of  heaven-wide  space ! 

But  men  say  of  the  wonders  of  the  sail 
Through  this  enchanted  grotto :  "  Yesterday 
I  went  to  bed,  and  woke  again  this  morning." 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  227 


XXV. 

The  Way  to  cure  Implacableness. 

The  way  to  cure  implacability 

Is  :  never  feel  offended  in  thy  heart ! 

Easy  enough,  if  thou  art  a  true  man, 

Nay,  simply  far  from  hard,  presumptuous  pride. 

Nor  shalt  thou  ever  forgive  any  man, 

Not  the  least  thing  ;  the  greatest  least  of  all  ! 

He  is  a  haughty  fool  who  will  forgive. 

Thou  seemest  scarce  to  see  the  heavenly  law 

Which  but  thy  foe,  thy  murderer,  overlook. 

And  now  wert  thou  this  law,  —  the  law  is  love,  — 

And  art  thou  it,  —  who  e'er  can  harm  thy  love  ? 

The  loving  spirit  is  far  beyond  offence  ! 

It  comes  as  pity,  kindness,  solace,  help  ! 

As  in  the  cloud  that  hurled  the  thunderbolt, 

Thou  recognizest  still  a  heavenly  hand, 

So  recognize  thou  the  divine  in  man, 

The  presence,  essence  of  the  indwelling  God, 

Which  he  was  surely,  is,  and  still  remains. 

I  pray,  see  clearly  :  He  who  will  forgive, 

Must  be  offended  !     And,  to  be  offended, 

Who  must  he  be  ?  —  more  pitiable  far 

Than  is  the  faulty  one  ;  be  thou  not  he  ! 

Be  not  the  man  through  whom  the  offence  shall  come, 

And  be  not  an  offended  man  ;  for  God's  sake 

Be  thou  no  pardoner,  —  one  who  will  forgive, 

And  lives  with  men  in  the  delusive  dream 

Of  pardoning  and  procuring  pardon  thus 

From  Some  One,  — who  's  offended  with  himself! 

A  loving  heart  can  never  take  offence, 


228  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Never  from  others  who  are  men  ;  still  less, 

Assuredly,  from  that  which  is  not  man, 

With  that  he  lives  in  everlasting  peace. 

The  clear  and  loving  soul  commit  a  sin  ? 

It  sins  not,  never  shall,  and  never  can  ? 

Only  where  clearness  and  pure  love  are  not, 

There  man  is  led  astray  in  passion's  mist, 

Urged  on  to  steal  a  fleeting  show  of  good  ; 

And  whom  dost  thou,  when  thou  forgiv'st,  forgive  ? 

Lo,  thou  forgivest  only  a  poor  soul  ! 

The  Devil,  I  would  say,  if  such  there  were. 

And  'what  dost  thou  forgive,  when  thou  forgiv'st  ? 

A  soul's  disaster,  and  a  soul's  disgrace! 

That  shalt  thou  not  for  all  the  good  of  earth  ; 

And  who  art  thou  thyself,  when  thou  forgiv'st  ? 

The  Devil,  I  would  say,  if  thou  wilt  be  ; 

Accept  no  pardon,  —  and  thou  needest  none, 

Thou  shamest  him  !     And  do  not  thou  forgive, 

'T  is  to  commit  a  sin,  the  greatest  sin 

Of  all :  the  sin  'gainst  love  and  blessedness 

Both  in  thy  breast  and  the  wide  universe. 

If  I  should  hear  of  men  :   "  They  are  offended,"  .  .  . 

"  Cannot  be  reconciled  to  wife  and  son,"  .... 

"  But  now  they  have  forgiven  their  enemies,"  .... 

Then  would  I  say  with  right :  They  're  not  yet  men. 

Or  heard  I  of  a  God :    "  He  is  offended, 

"  Cannot  be  reconciled  to  wife  and  son,  .... 

"  The  God  has  now  forgiven  his  enemies, 

And,  for  his  friends,  long  since  forgave  them  all,"  .  . 

Hardly  were  he  a  man  like  thee  and  me, 

And  sure  could  never  be  a  God  of  men  : 

For  God  is  Love,  Reason,  and  Blessedness, 

Who  in  his  wrath  would  do  despite  to  these? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Not  thou,  not  I,  and  surely  no  true  man. 

O  what  delusion  still  oppresses  men, 

Drags  down  to  dust  their  life  and  better  heart, 

Which  yearns  to  feel  magnanimously  like  God, 

And  must  so  feel,  since  God  within  them  lives  ! 

Who  feels  himself  offended  will  revenge 

Far  sooner,  haply,  than  forgive  the  offence, 

Just  as  the  boy,  reluctantly  lets  go, 

And  sullenly,  from  his  hands  the  captive  bird. 

And  therefore  say  I  to  thee  for  thy  good, 

And  for  the  good,  repose  and  peace  of  men  : 

"  Ne'er  feel  thyself  offended  in  thy  heart, 

For  thou  canst  never  love  thy  so-called  foe,  — 

Thy  enemy  implies  thy  enmity,  — 

But  easily  and  heartily  a  man  ; 

For  in  him  dwells  the  gracious  spirit  of  God. 

Behold  then,  —  know  no  foe,  but  only  man  ! 

And  where  it  seems  to  thee  offence  draws  nigh, 

'T  is  only  a  loud  call :  Help  here  a  man 

To  insight,  reason,  tolerance,  and  love  ! 

And  now  make  haste  with  zeal  to  succor  him  ! " 


XXVI. 

The  Moral  of  Card-house-building. 

When  thou  didst  build  card-houses,  as  a  child, 

Thou  didst  not  dare  to  breathe  !  how  patiently, 

With  all  a  child's  devout  simplicity, 

Presence  of  mind  and  earnest  faithfulness, 

Thy  stiff  and  weary  arms  went  through  the  work  ! 

Or  was  a  rose-bush  given  thee  to  tend, 

How  oft  't  was  sprinkled,  watched  how  carefully  ! 


229 


230  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

So  all  that  thou  beholdest  round  about 

Has  grown  and  prospered  only  by  the  care, 

Diligence,  earnestness,  persistency, 

Which  chose  and  used  the  means  each  end  required. 

And  shall  thy  inner  man,  then,  rear  itself? 

Like  a  wild  plant,  thy  soul  grow  of  itself, 

Thy  disposition,  mind,  and  character  ? 

No  star,  no  grain  of  sun-dust  jars  another, 

The  mountains  stand  there  calmly  side  by  side, 

The  forest-trees,  the  lambs  within  the  fold  ; 

Yet  sooner  all  wild  beasts  shall  dwell  together 

Harmoniously,  when  hunger  drives  them  mad, 

The  lions,  crocodiles,  and  giant  snakes, 

The  tigers,  lynxes,  panthers,  and  hyenas, 

Than  in  thy  brain  the  thoughts  dwell  peacefully  ; 

Tame,  order,  curb  them  with  an  iron  rein  ! 

Be  lord  and  master  of  thy  bosom-thoughts, 

Then  art  thou  master  of  thy  passions,  then, 

Then  only  art  thou  sure  of  thy  pure  bliss. 

Lo  !  in  the  mighty  herd  of  human  folk 

Do  not,  exactly,  differing  bodies  dwell, 

They  all  in  almost  equal  bodies  dwell ; 

But  differing  minds  impelling  different  ways 

Into  sea-waves  resolve  humanity, 

And  yet  the  waves  one  ruling  wind  compels. 

Hast  thou  then  trained  thyself  to  be  a  man, 

Then  hast  thou  made  far  more  than  kingdoms  thine 

With  thine  own  spirit's  treasures  for  the  spoils, 

With  power  and  empire  over  all  the  world  ; 

Even  o'er  death  and  life,  distress  and  pain  ; 

Then  hast  thou  done  more  than  all  masters  have 

With  brass  and  stone,  with  colors,  and  with  tones  ; 

Hast  wrought  within  thyself  a  godlike  work 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  231 

That  lives  !  that  moves  !  divinely  thinks  and  feels  ! 
Hast  made  the  universe  to  be  for  thee 
A  living  fount  of  beauty,  love,  and  truth  ! 
And  filled  with  its  rich  powers  and  influences, 
Thou  growest  up  its  noble  son,  —  a  man. 


XXVII. 
Fear  of  Thunder. 

It  thunders  ;  godlike  thunder !  speak  yet  more  ! 

It  lightens  ;  ravishing  lightning  !  flash  yet  more  ! 

No  other  sound  so  vibrates  through  the  breast 

As  thunder's  roar,  the  child's-talk  of  the  clouds. 

O  would  but  once  Heaven  speak  a  very  word ! 

And  when  I  long  have  dwelt  at  home  on  earth, 

Long  in  the  crowd  of  men  forgot  myself, 

And  dream,  I  in  a  city  live  with  king 

And  beggars,  human  faces,  forms,  and  speech, 

In  a  poor,  narrow  circle  spellbound  thus  .... 

Once  more  it  thunders,  and  the  ancient  sound 

Out  of  the  hoary  eld,  electrically 

Hurls  me  to  earth,  —  and  lo,  I  am  at  home, 

At  home,  indeed,  in  our  old  house  of  gods  ! 

Then  do  my  children  gather  round  me  all. 

A  flash,  —  a  crash  !     I  tremble  at  the  cloud 

That  hangs  down  black  and  lowering  o'er  our  homes,  — 

"  To  feel  thou  'rt  in  the  power  of  a  cloud  ! 

The  power  of  vapors,  which  the  wind's  breath  drives, 

How  wretched  !  "   Wretched  ?   Didst  thou  speak  the  word 

Contemptuously,  despising,  as  a  fool, 

The  all-amazing  unveiled  majesty,  .... 

The  veil  itself!     Lord,  hear  not  what  the  fool 


232  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Hath  said !     O  Lord  and  Master,  they  despise 

Thy  robe,  Thy  flaming  garment  they  despise, 

Self-living  robe,  because  Thou  touchest  it, 

Because  it  touches  Thee,  charged  with  Thy  power! 

This  now  they  scorn,  —  the  pictures  on  it  too  ! 

—  Godlike  as  they  themselves  are,  all  Thy  spirits, 

How  much  so  e'er  they  after  Thee  have  wrought, 

Shaped,  and  created  ;  images  and  thoughts, 

Man  fashioning  man  and  works  so  worthy  man,  — 

Though  they  have  wrought  so  much  which  Thou   hadst 

planned, 

Yet  has  not  the  divinest  of  them  all 
Created  after  Thee  a  grain  of  sand  ! 
Not  one  will  ever  after  Thee  create 
A  drop  of  water,  no,  nor  air  enough 
To  give  a  fly  one  breath,  not  even  that! 
Say  nothing  of  those  full  and  swelling  veins 
Of  blood,  wherein  each  droplet  is  a  star, 
A  light,  a  lustre  !    and  far  less  say  aught 
Of  the  whole  giant  frame  !   the  termite-pile 
Of  ether-waves  !   the  golden  giant  shell 
Full  of  clear  liquid  pearls  !     Alas,  Thy  house, 
The  snail-house  formed  out  of  their  own  life-sap, 
Thy  likeness,  by  Thyself  delineated, 
Thy  property,  yea,  property  of  soul,  — 
This  they  despise,  the  pictures  on  it,  too  ! 
The  robe  of  beauty  incorruptible 
And  indestructible  that  wraps  Thee  round, 
Conceals,  reveals,  contains  Thy  deity, 
Just  as  the  human  body  forms  the  man, 
Who  is  man  only  while  in  flesh.     The  flesh, 
The  incarnation  of  the  Eternal  Love, 
Yea  that,  O  Lord  and  Master,  they  despise  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  O  were  this  unsearchable  existence 
Thy  body,  ah,  hadst  Thou  a  body,  too, 
And  were  it  still  diviner  than  Thy  soul,  — 
Then  would  their  petty  thought  divorce  itself 
From  Thee  forever,  just  because  their  soul 
A  body  wears,  which  crumbles  into  dust ! 


XXVIII. 

Goodness  is  simple  Being. 

Goodness  is  nothing  more  than  simple  being ; 
All  other  being  is  but  going-to-be, 
Or  going  astray  from  being,  going  to  waste. 
Be  not,  O  good  man,  proud,  thou  merely  art, 
And  as  the  rose  may  bloom  out  suddenly, 
Each  who  is  going-to-be  may  straightway  be. 


XXIX. 

Praying  to  the  Great  Physician. 

When,  to  the  mere  physician,  thou  dost  dare 
To  utter  words  like  these  :    "  Ah,  do,  I  pray, 
All  that  thou  canst  to  save  this  sufferer  ! 
Neglect  no  means  !     Fail  not  to  visit  him  ! 
The  apothecary's  shop  is  well  supplied 
With  medicines  ?   the  attendants  are  not  drunk  ? 
In  thy  prescriptions  pray  make  no  mistakes  ! 
The  remedies  thou  orderest,  best  of  men, 
Will  certainly  not  harm  him?     Thou  art  sure?" 
The  doctor  might  unblamed  make  coarse  reply ! 
And  wilt  thou  pray  to  God  in  words  like  these  ? 


233 


234 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


And  if  thou  dost,  believ'st  thou  in  a  God  ? 

Whoso  believes  in  God  shows  reverence 

By  hope,  and  offers  him  a  silent  prayer  ! 

There  is  but  one  prayer  !  —  't  is  a  pious  mind. 

And  mark,  a  pious  mind  has  godlike  joy, 

'T  is  joy  in  God  and  in  his  godliness. 

Thus  all  things  point  the  heart  of  man  to  joy  ! 

True  joy,  however,  is  the  hardest  work 

Of  man,  the  hardest  and  most  serious  too.  * 

Give  not  the  name  of  joy  to  levity, 

To  idle  mirth  and  self-forgetfulness  ! 

They  that  are  noisy  now  erelong  will  weep 

In  silence.     No  !   the  mother  of  true  joy 

Is  thoughtfulness, — the  eye  of  God  in  man, — 

That  sees  all  clearly  and  loves  all  things  clear. 


XXX. 

Man's  Ability  and  Responsibility. 

Thy  hand  hath  made  and  sent  me  forth,  and  now, 

O  Father,  here  I  stand  beneath  Thy  clouds, 

Confronted  yonder  with  Thy  beauteous  heaven, 

Thy  great  sun  mildly  beaming  down  on  me, 

Right  in  the  midst  of  all  Thy  miracles, 

Here  on  thy  festally  attired  earth  ! 

Each  mystery  of  Thy  artistic  soul, 

All  the  half-veiled,  half-manifest  loveliness 

Of  the  divine  creations,  great  and  small, 

Which  Thou  in  the  full  glow  of  fervid  love 

Hast  shaped,  my  eye  unlocks  to  me,  my  ear, 

*"Res  severa    est  verum    gaudium."  —  Motto  of  a  Music  Hall   in  Ber 
lin.     TR. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


235 


My  spirit,  of  Thy  lofty  spirit  born  ! 

And  bliss-bewildered  scarce  I  comprehend 

Yet  that  Thou  art,  that  I  am,  and  how  blest! 

That  I  do  feel  Thee  in  my  glowing  breast, 

That  I  do  love  Thee  in  my  swelling  soul, 

That  I  am  still  before  Thee  here,  a  man, 

And  set  so  high,  —  o'er  all  Thy  children  round, 

The  little  flowers,  each  holding  in  its  eye 

The  speck  of  dew,  —  more  than  clouds,  rock  and  stream, 

More  than  the  sun  there  in  the  heavenly  blue, 

Through  Thy  clear  image  in  the  human  star, 

Through  the  heart's  fiery  glow  that  gleams  from  Thine, 

Through    thought's    enrapturing    flow  that    streams    from 

Thine  ! 

And  O,  what  hast  Thou  not  conferred  on  me  ! 
Intrusted  to   me  !    till  I  dread  to  think 
That  a  man's  hand  should  hold  the  gifts  of  God  ! 
Thou  hast  even  over  spirits  given  me  power, 
Who  as  my  servants  are  assigned  to  me,  — 
Power  o'er  Thy  best  children's  destinies  ; 
Not  the  rose  only  which  my  hand  may  pluck, 
The  flowers  my  foot  may  tread  on  at  its  will,  — 
I  can  destroy  at  pleasure  man  himself, 
And  if  I  will,  can  send  him  from  the  earth  ! 
The  soul  that  loves  me  I  can  so  afflict 
That  it  with  inward  grief  shall  silently 
Transform  the  fair  and  heavenly  frame  to  dust, 
And  weeping,  flee  for  refuge  to  Thy  breast ; 
Whole  cities  even  can  I  with  the  torch 
Of  Thine  own  holy  fire  annihilate, 
Poison  the  well-springs  for  their  little  ones, 
And  none  shall  hinder, — none  shall  know  of  it 
But  Thou  and  I !    Yea,  I  can  sacrifice 


236  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Myself,  and  burst  these  walls  before  the  time  ! 

And  Thou.  Thou  must,  howeTer  reluctantly, 

Open  to  me  the  grave,  unlock  to  me 

The  halls  of  death,  full  of  all  blessedness, 

And  even  the  cup  of  immortality 

Reach  out  to  me,  —  though  with  averted  face  ! 

But  ah,  I  sink,  I  wither  at  the  thought 

That  Thou  couldst  ever  turn  Thy  face  from  me  ! 

0  turn  Thou  towards  me  !     Ever  turn  on  me 
Thy  pure,  Thy  heavenly-beauteous  countenance  ! 
And  whatsoe'er  on  earth,  whate'er  'mong  men 
Resembles  Thee, — forgive  the  blind,  blind  word. 
The  dimmest,  distant  shadow  of  Thyself, 

That  will  I  reverence  !    love,  as  loving  thee  : 
Whether  Thou  comest  as  a  little  child. 
Whether  Thou  comest  as  a  lovely  maid, 
Whether  Thou  comest  with  the  silver  hair 
Of  the  old  man,  or  the  blind  beggar's  staff, 
Or  comest  Thou  in  the  mother  swallow's  form, 
Feeding  her  little  fledglings  in  the  nest, 
Or  as  the  lark  that  soars  and  sings  aloft, 
The  mottled  pigeon  that  so  busily 
Picks  up  the  golden  corn,  I  must  not  let 
My  shadow  scare  her  from  her  quiet  work ! 
Or  comest  Thou  in  my  own  children's  form, — 

1  '11  bear  them  in  my  hands  as  tenderly 
As  if  I  held  Thyself,  so  small,  so  dear ! 

Or  takest  Thou  the  gushing  rain-stream's  form, 
As  from  the  clouds  it  falls  in  dancing  drops, 
What  time  Thou  thunderest  high  overhead, 
And  flashest  rosy  lightning  far  abroad, — 
I  will  scoop  out  a  little  trench  wherein 
The  holy  water  from  the  clouds  may  run 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Gayly  where  Thou  hast  sent  it !  —  Hear  this  too  : 
If  in  my  own  form  Thou  shalt  clothe  Thyself, 
In  my  own  mind  and  thought  shalt  be  with  me, 
I  will  revere  myself,  will  so  revere 
My  body,  as  a  shape  of  holy  dust, 
Of  holy  bones  from  Thy  prime  matter  made, 
My  soul,  as  light  from  Thy  primeval  light, 
That  honoring  Thee  shall  all  my  glory  be, 
That  my  rejoicing  shall  Thy  gladness  be, 
That  to  be  Thine  shall  be  my  endless  life  ! 


XXXI. 

The  Secret  of  Equanimity  towards  Men. 

"  How  painfully  must  thou  have  schooled  thy  heart 

To  look  on  all  calmly  and  equably, 

To  talk  with  beggars  as  respectfully 

As  with  the  emperor  composedly, 

To  greet  with  pleasure  every  one  who  comes, 

As  if  he  had  come  down  from  the  blue  heaven, 

And  when  he  goes,  never  to  say,  nor  yet 

To  think,  an  evil  word  behind  his  back, 

But  with  a  heartfelt  blessing  follow  him 

To  God's  great  palace  wherein  to  he  went ! 

But  this  I  deem  the  hardest  thing  of  all 

That  thou,  as  frankly  as  before  a  child, 

As  frankly  as  a  child  before  thyself, 

Disclosest  and  confidest —  say  I?     Nay  — 

But  simply  utterest,  communicatest 

Thy  every  wish,  thy  every  thought  and  work, 

Without  disgrace,  wrong,  danger,  or  a  blush 

For  men  as  for  thyself;   melodiously, 


237 


238  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Aye,  chiming  as  a  lark's  voice  with  the  spring, 

Or  as  a  bell  with  all  creation's  peal. 

And  wilt  thou  not  divulge  thy  secret  now? 

Thou  seest  the  man  in  every  man,  seest  man 

In  the  universe,  the  universe  in  man  ; 

To  thee  lives  only  Nature  ;    childish  stuff 

From  the  old  times  when  man  knew  not  himself, 

Honor  'mong  fools,  —  place  and  prerogative  — 

Precedence,  pomp  —  and  all  the  mummery, — 

All  that  to  thee  is  empty  nothingness, 

All  wasted  to  a  shadowy,  spectral  life, 

To  think  of  it,  with  anger  knits  thy  brow  ; 

Thou  seest  man  naked,  in  the  nakedness 

Of  all  his  inborn  beauty,  every  man 

Thou  seest  in  his  first  and  final  worth  ; 

And  all  he  might  have  been  and  was  to  be, 

By  virtue  of  his  mind  and  of  his  heart, 

In  a  just  spirit  thou  ascribest  to  him  ! 

And  if  he  has  not,  is  not,  such  great  things, 

Thou  blushest  for  the  world,  and  pity  then 

Exalts  into  a  glow  thy  reverence. 

Who  could  before  the  sun  —  a  color  hide  ? 

And  who  could  wish,  before  the  Thinking  one, 

The  Thinker  in  the  Ether  and  in  man, 

To  hide  so  much  as  but  one  flying  thought?" 

To  think  on  God,  —  V  is  that  creates  thee  man. 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

A  UGUST. 


AUGUST. 


I.  God's  Universe  is  its  own  History. 

II.  Christ's  Meekness  rebukes  Christians. 

III.  The  light  and  easy  Yoke. 

IV.  Treat  Humanity  as  a  Child. 

V.  Human  History  :  —  The  Chaff  and  the  Wheat. 

VI.  Dawn,  — its  Wonders  and  Glories. 

VII.  The  Blessedness  of  Obedience. 

VIII.  Trust  the  Heart  of  Man. 

IX.  Let  thy  Giving,  like  God's,  not  oppress. 

X.  Man's  Regeneration  shall  redound  to  all  Creatures. 

XI.  The  End  of  Life  is  to  live. 

XII.  Be  no  Tyrant  in  thy  little  World. 

XIII.  Persecution  begets  Pride. 

XIV.  Charity  believeth  all  Things. 

XV.  Contemplate  calmly  the  Mutability  of  Things. 

XVI.  Think  soberly  of  Thyself  and  All. 

XVII.  Mother  Nature's  Love  is  new  to  each  Child. 

XVIII.  Man's  Want  of  Respect  for  Man,  Nature,  God. 

XIX.  True  Praise  reveals  to  Man  the  God  in  him. 

XX.  Swearing  profanes  the  Lord's  Day  every  Day. 

XXI.  Nature  glorified  in  Family  Love. 

XXII.  One  bad  Habit  like  a  Fly. 

XXIII.  Everything  beautiful  in  his  Time. 

XXIV.  Stand  divinely  in  thy  Lot. 
XXV.  Each  Creature's  Life  dear  to  him. 

XXVI.  Transformation  of  the  Caterpillar  and  of  Man. 

XXVII.  Sorrow  for  Death  turned  to  Joy. 

XXVIII.  Virtue  not  virtuous  till  easy. 

XXIX.  Comparison  kills  Things. 

XXX.  Time's  Ruins  exalt  a  right  Soul. 

XXXI.  True  Worth  asks  no  Appraiser. 


AUGUST. 


God's  Universe  is  its  own  History. 

!HE  history  of  the  world,  the  Universe, 
None  writes  ;    who  lives  it,   he  has  not  the 

time, 

For  life  he  never  gets  to  history ; 
Nor  could  he  find  a  soul  to  write  it  to, 

One  who  could  understand  him  or  his  work, 

Its  plan,  performance,  glorious  success  ; 

What  he  has  done  himself,   he  knows  himself, 

He  sees  it  clear  and  constant  as  the  sun  ; 

For  what  he  does  is  evermore  the  same : 

Himself!  —  the  ever-equal,  highest  love 

With  ever-equal,  highest  might  of  joy. 

To  live  himself,  —  that  none  can  do  but  God, — 

God  has  no  history,  nor  the  Universe  ; 

And  wondrously  sublime  would  sound  the  leaves 

From  the  great  log-book  of  the  starry  fleet :  — 

"  The  stars  are  moving  duly  on  their  course  ; 

There  is  not  one,  that  has  not  joyfully 

With  passionate  love  fulfilled  his  holy  task, 

No  solitary  one  !   of  the  great  fleet 

No  ship  is  missing,  —  not  a  streamer  lost, 

No  rudder  broken,  —  all  is  safe  and  sound, 

We  have  not  had  a  drop  of  water  spoil, 

We  have  not  lost  a  particle  of  earth, 


242  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Each  breath  of  ether  holds  its  freshness  yet, 

The  deep,  blue  flood  is  free  from  danger  still, 

We  all  sail  safely  o'er  the  silent  sea, 

In  peace  and  comfort,  in  exulting  joy, 

As  if  spell-drawn  into  the  stillness  here ! 

Only  to  some  does  this  seem  singular ; 

They  guess  and  guess, — but  cannot  guess  it  out. 

That  we  on  all  the  stars  bear  round  with  us 

A  great  black  pall  outflying  as  a  flag, 

And  yet  are  all  in  health!" 

—  "  And  wishing  health 
Remain  as  in  our  previous  report." 
"Postscript:  —  the  wind  is  fresh.     The  night  is  fair, 
As  in  each  other's  sight  we  sail  the  deep, 
Each  with  his  light  in  silence  on  his  breast! 
And  myriad  lights  reflected  on  the  sea ! 
Yet  sealed  in  mystery  the  orders  lie 
In  which  our  mission's  end  and  aim  are  wrapped. 
Attentively  and  patiently  we  wait 
The  signals  on  the  passage,  bidding:     Break 
The  seals,  let  go  the  anchors  now,  and  land ! 
Yet  still  and  still  and  still  no  shore  appears, 
No  bird,  no  green  twig,  floating,  welcomes  us." 
So  would  it  sound  at  morn  and  so  at  eve,  — 
The  morn  and  eve  of  new  millenia,  — 
So  would  it  sound  again  upon  the  morn 
Of  the  fair  day  of  long  millenia ! 
That  which  is  greatest  has  no  history ; 
That  which  is  small  is  history,  —  and  is  small! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  243 


ii. 

Chrisfs  Meekness  rebukes  Christians. 

The  Testament  says:  —  "Jesus  spake:     Ye  know, 
The  princes  of  the  world,  they  exercise 
Authority  ;   the  great  ones  rule  by  force,  — 
So  shall  it  not  be  among  you !     But  he 
Who  will  be  great  and  mighty  among  you 
Shall  be  your  servant."  —  May  not  now  a  man 
Well  ask,  supported  by  such  words  as  these : 
"Are  ye  still  heathen?     Worldly,  — heathenish  ?" 
JVo,  indeed?     "Are  you  Christians?"  —  Be  so,  then! 
That  word  "  among  you  "  cries  to  every  man  ! 

"  If  any  man  shall  smite  thee  on  thy  cheek, 

Turn  thou  to  him  the  other  cheek."     That  word 

Is  said,  indeed,  to  each  one  who  receives  — 

But  for  the  shame  and  betterment  of  him, 

Chiefly  and  properly,  who  gives  —  the  blows! 

That  one's  misdeed  avails  not  to  annul 

The  meekness  of  the  others,  but  their  meekness 

Disarms,  destroys  the  others'  evil  mind ; 

And  surely :    when  they  are  themselves  the  meek. 


m. 

The  light  and  easy  Yoke. 

The  Koran  says :    "  God  willeth  that  his  law 
Should  be  made  light  to  men,  for  man  is  weak." 
But  hearken  thou  and  understand :    Does  gold 
Feel  itself  heavy?     Is  the  falcon's  plume 


244  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Light  to  itself?     'T  is  merely  to  itself. 
The  law  of  God  is  thy  law ;   otherwise 
It  could  not  be  thy  law.     Be  thou  a  law 
Unto  thyself,  and  then  thy  life  shall  be 
Light  as  an  eagle's  pathway  through  the  skies. 


IV. 

Treat  Humanity  as  a  Child. 

Thou  punishest  not  in  children  children's  faults ! 

Haste,  loudness,  running,  falling,  laughing,  weeping, 

Breaking  things,  overjoy  in  novelties, 

Fondness  for  morning  sleep,  improvidence,  — 

For  these  are  faults  that  childhood  brings  with  it, 

And  these  are  faults  that  children  all  outgrow ; 

So  day  by  day  they  vanish  quietly 

As  flies  and  other  autumn  insects  do, 

Never  to  reappear.  —  And  wilt  thou  then 

Visit  thy  wrath  upon  humanity, 

That  poor  sick  child,  ailing  these  thousand  years, 

Because  amidst  its  many  troubles  all, 

It  has  not  put  away  yet  all  its  faults  ? 

Humanity's  must  still  be  children's  faults, 

—  For  it  appears  like  children,  ever  young,  — 

And  such  are  faults  that  childhood  brings  with  it, 

And  such  are  faults  that  children  all  outgrow  ; 

So  day  by  day  they  vanish  quietly 

As  flies  and  other  autumn  insects  do, 

Never  to  reappear.  —  Wilt  thou  now  use 

Hardness  and  hate,  mistrust,  rage,  yea,  revenge, 

To  punish  others,  punishing  thyself, — 

Invoking  against  heavenly  ones  the  spirit 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  245 

Of  hell,  instead  of  one  good  angel,  one,— 
Where  patience,  nay,  a  hint,  were  quite  enough  ! 
For  better  being  is  there  none  than  man ! 
But  of  all  men  the  father  is  the  best. 


V. 

Hitman  History :  —  the  Chaff  and  the  Wheat. 

The  God  in  mortal  flesh,  the  God  in  small, 
Man,  with  his  day  and  night,  and  fall  and  spring, 
With  infancy  and  youth,  old  age  and  death, 
With  ever  changing  impulses  and  thoughts, 
Man,  moral  man,  alone  has  history, 
He  becomes  history,  a  silent  word 
In  the  unwearied  utterance  of  the  race ; 
Each  noble  deed  is  done,  is  in  itself 
Complete,  and  nobly  it  completes  the  man : 

—  Not  Heaven  itself  can  thereunto  add  aught,  — 
Man  fully  ends  his  work,  for  his  life  ends : 

—  Not  Heaven  itself  can  thereunto  add  aught,  — 
Life  ends  each  day,  each  hour,  ends  momently 

With  changing  moods,  with  each  new  coming  thought, 

With  the  clear  survey  and  the  better  light. 

For  mark,  man  does  not  live  his  very  self, 

He  lives  another  being ;   another  lives 

In  him,  from  him,  through  him,  —  as  through  a  veil, 

A  hand  invisible  reaches  down  to  earth : 

Brings  him,  brings  to  him ;    takes  from  him,  takes  him, 

And  all  things  round  about  him  takes  and  brings. 

Thus  does  man  grow  to  history  for  men, 

Who  grow  themselves  to  history,  because 

They  creep  across  the  earth,  a  little  race, 


246  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Accomplishing  forever  little  things, 

And  done  with  them,  when  they  have  just  begun, 

Just  stirred  the  hand,  and  scarcely  moved  the  lipsr 

The  little  life  enjoying  in  the  great, 

Like  children.     So  a  boy  will  hold  the  reins 

And  proudly  think  he  drives  his  father,  he 

Holding  meanwhile  the  reins  behind  his  head, 

Slyly, — that  so  the  child  may  drive  with  joy! 

The  sun  has  perfect  right  to  disown  day! 

The  more  thou  namest  days,  the  more  does  he 

Disown  them,  conscious  only  to  himself 

Of  shining  and  of  light.     Dost  thou  disown 

The  history  of  the  world  ?  —  Not  without  right ; 

Only  the  human  heart  has  always  lived, 

The  constant,  never-swerving,  changeless  one, 

At  no  time  long  befooled  or  led  astray; 

Are  only  folly,  error, — history,    then! 

For  is,  now,  all  that  ever  came  to  pass, 

The  history  of  the  human  heart !     Those  crimes, 

And  murders,  and  those  horrid  midnight  deeds 

Of  men  made  mad  by  greed  of  gold  or  lands, 

Are  those,  forsooth,  the  deeds  which  man  has  done  ? 

Not  men,  but  monsters,  single  criminals, 

Standing  apart,  alone  in  time  and  space  ; 

A  train  of  senseless  deeds,  is  history. 

Far  other  work  the  human  heart,  the  people, 

Has  thought,  done,  lived,  in  the  full  glow  of  life, 

In  the  still  circle  of  its  fruitfulness,  — 

What  has  been  laid  up  and  showed  up,  to  us, 

That  were  the  history  of  a  maniac  ! 

Alas,  not  history  ;    for  it  is  no  whole, 

It  has  no  sequence,  —  all  the  mess  of  stuff 


TEE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  247 

Is  but  the  refuse,  chaff  of  the  great  harvest, 

Whose  heavy  ears  were  heaped  up  silently, — 

The  leavings  of  the  banquet  of  the  gods, 

Fragments  of  potsherds,  broken  words  caught  up 

From  the  street  brawl  of  drunk  and  angry  men, 

Marking  the  steady  victory  of  the  good, 

Who,  if  they  suffered,  —  perished  without  help,  — 

Did  steadfastly  the  old  eternal  good  ; 

Who,  after,  as  before,  the  idle  stir, 

All  sat  around  life's  table  tranquilly, 

Enjoyed  their  heart  and  nature's  equal  gifts. 

Take,  then,  good  heed,  O  man,  that  thou  and  thine 
Never  become  mere  history,  empty  words  ! 
Then  were  you  happy,  being  truly  men. 
"  'Gainst  bad  men  thou  must  arm  thyself  with  steel." 
Does  that  make  happy  ?     Ask,  I  pray,  the  world  ! 
And  ask'st  thou  :    When  shall  fraud  and  fury  end  ? 
Noble  and  base  together  shall,  good  soul. 
Now  then  still  call  what  happens,  History.* 


VI. 

2)awn,  —  its  Wonders  and  Glories. 

O  ruddy  dawn  !  thou  beauteous  holy  glow, 

Still,  golden  well-spring  of  the  sea  of  haze 

That  floods  the  vales,  the  mountains,  and  the  skies, 

Streams  into  every  hut.  envelops  it 

In  blazing  purple,  fills  each  little  room 

With  splendor,  from  the  ceiling  to  the  floor, 

*  Geschichte  (history)  is  related  to  geschehen,  (was  geschieht,  —  what  hap 
pens.,     We  have  no  such  correspondence  in  English.  — TK. 


248  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Suffusing  all  the  lightly  waking  ones 

And  cradled  infants  with  such  loveliness, 

That  they,  as  by  enchantment,  seem  arrayed 

In  Heaven's  own  delicate  and  rosy  veil, 

Adorned  with  godlike  beauty  for  God's  day: 

That  even  the  heavy  axe,  the  hoe,  and  spade, 

The  senseless  tools  and  implements  of  day 

Wherewith  men  occupy  their  little  life, 

Seem  to  them  heavenly,  light,  and  gladsome  now, 

When  they,  as  gracefully  as  living  friends, 

Bathed  in  the  same  celestial  radiance, 

As  if  refreshed  to  do  a  new  day's  work, 

Willing  and  modest  in  the  corner  stand  ! 

O  dawn  !   unutterable  coming  forth 

Of  the  unutterable  :    the  new-born  day  ; 

No  meteor  thou,  that  with  a  sudden  flash 

Darting  through  heaven,  in  thunder  disappears  ! 

No  apparition  thou !     Thou  art  immortal 

As  sun  and  moon  and  all  divine  things  else  ! 

Though  dying  every  morning,  still  each  morn 

Thou  reappearest  yet  more  beautiful, 

Adorning  heaven  again  and  yet  again 

With  hues  and  glories  never  seen  before, — 

Making  the  ocean  to  the  seaman's  eyes 

And  to  the  dolphin  one  vast  purple  flood  ; 

Tingeing  the  sea-mew's  wings  with  molten  gold, 

With  gold  the  small  sails  of  the  nautilus, 

Turning  the  lark's  wings  in  the  air  to  flames, 

So  that  the  young  lark  dares  not  trust  herself 

To  such  a  conflagration  of  the  clouds  ! 

In  the  great,  rich,  and  gorgeous  hall  of  earth, 

Full  of  all  kinds  of  wonders,  old  and  new, 

Thou  art  the  friendliest  of  the  precious  things, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  249 

And  still  shalt  be,  so  long  as  pilgrims  come, 
So  long  as  earth  and  as  the  heavens  shall  stand  ! 
Man  journeys  to  the  mountains  that  spout  fire, 
The  thunder  and  the  spray  of  cataracts, 
And  deems  the  little  journey  well  repaid. 
But  the  fair  journey  to  the  realm  of  dawn, 
The  journey  to  the  watch-tower  of  this  earth, 
Where  thou  beholdest  fiery  dew-drops  fall, 
Where  thine  own  form  becomes  a  sparkling  ruby, 
Where  the  white  roses  sparkling  rubies  are, 
Wherein  the  snow  of  blossoms  turns  to  gold, 
To  gold  the  towers  and  all  the  works  of  men, 
Wherein  the  soul  within  thee  grows  to  hope 
And  hope  to  the  most  fervent  ecstasy, — 
With  that  fair  pilgrimage,  enchanting  dawn, 
Thou  blessest  the  Great  Spirit  afar  off, 
WTho  to  behold  thee  a  few  mornings  only 
Is  glad  to  let  himself  be  born  a  child 
And  buried  an  old  man  ;    shall  he  not  rest 
Forever  in  thy  purple,  in  thy  gold  ! 
Ah,  dawn  !  —  as  over  children's  graves  we  lean, 
And  our  dear  dead,  —  over  old  sacred  stones,  — 
There  most  of  all  art  thou  heart-thrilling, — Ah  ! 
Incomprehensible,  to  me  too,  me. 


VII. 
The  Blessedness  of  Obedience. 

Obedient  shalt  thou  be  to  God  alone, 
And  him  who  asks  of  thee  the  works  of  God, 
That  which  is  always  right  and  always  good. 
But  yield  a  cheerful,  glad  obedience 


250 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


To  life  and  death,  to  fortune  and  to  fate  ! 

Obedience  alone  can  make  thee  blest : 

And  through  the  good  which  then  thou  followest 

It  makes  thee  so  !     Art  thou  obedient  now, 

Then  art  thou  praiseworthy  ;    but  art  thou  so 

With  discontent,  reluctance,  even  tears, 

Hast  thou  then  plucked  the  fruit  of  what  is  good  ? 

Thou  hast  but  painfully  climbed  up  the  tree, 

And  fallen  down  again  among  the  thorns  ! 

Naught  is  more  blessed  to  the  proudest  man 

Than  pure  obedience  !   blind  obedience, 

Yea,  the  most  thoughtless,  inconsiderate, 

Resting  upon  another's  godliness, 

On  equal,  positive,  and  holy  laws, 

Which,  given  invisibly,  hold  visible  sway, 

Offering  infallibly  the  good  man  life, 

Threatening  infallibly  the  bad  with  death. 

Well,  —  there  is  one  bliss,  then,  laid  up  for  man  : 

Obedience  to  Nature !   who  stands  fast, 

Guarding  and  executing  her  own  law 

With  more  than  iron  inflexibility, 

With  still,  inviolable  truth,  and  seems 

Blessed  herself,  reposing  on  herself, 

Like  a  kind  shepherdess  stretched  out  at  length 

In  the  green  pasture,  while  the  feeding  flock 

Roams  far  and  wide,  secure  from  every  foe  ! 

So  rest  thou,  too,  O  Man !     Is  that  so  hard, 

To  sink  thy  doubts  and  questions  and  unrest 

In  a  serene  and  godly  confidence  ! 

Just  to  believe  in  this  bright,  endless  day ! 

Not  to  dread  thunder,  not  to  hear  it  growl, 

Till  somewhere  in  the  sky  a  cloud  has  risen. 

But  look  and  see,  —  no  cloud  will  ever  come  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  251 

Into  this  pure  blue  heaven  there  never  shall 

A  giant  stalk!   nor  ever  with  strange  voice 

Shall  a  strange  law  challenge  the  universe  ! 

And  now  this  ancient,  gladsome  law  of  His 

Thou  canst  to-day  believe,  to-day  embrace  ! 

Canst  at  this  moment  wed  thyself  thereto, 

And  have  Heaven's  treasures  all  poured  out  on  thee, 

Peace  and  security  and  joy  and  bliss, 

The  sleep  of  childhood  and  a  child's  glad  waking. 

But  above  all,  —  employment  in  a  work 

Sure  to  be  crowned  with  heavenly  success ! 

Which,  as  thou  growest  more  perfect,  grows  with  thee. 

'T  is  easy  to  obey  the  will  of  Heaven ! 

With  gods  to  share  the  strife,  the  victory, 

To  feel  gods  round  about  thee,  at  thy  side, 

And,  if  thou  fall's t,  to  fall  victorious, 

And  from  the  battle-field  by  gods  to  be 

Borne  weeping. 

Hard,  indeed,  it  is  to  yield 
Obedience  to  men.     Impossible, 
To  robbers,  tyrants,  murderers,  and  liars  ; 
Impossible  not  to  wake  through  gloomy  nights, 
Not  to  interrogate  one's  boding  soul, 
To  plant  one's  self  defiant  on  his  strength, 
With  fear  and  trembling,  even  with  bitter  tears  : 
To  feel,  the  heart  must  lean  on  self  alone, 
Take  petty  measures  for  its  own  defence, 
Instead  of  joining  with  a  mighty  host 
Of  noble  men  nobly  and  innocently 
To  carry  human  powers  to  height  divine, 
And  to  behold,  astonished,  all  the  brave 
Achievements  of  a  simple,  childlike  soul, 
Which,  undeceived,  knows  only  to  obey ! 


252  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

To  make  obedience  possible,  —  be  thy  work 
With  thine  own  children  and  the  sons  of  men, 
For  't  is  the  work  which  Nature  has  herself 
With  clear  example  set  before  each  man. 


VIII. 
Trust  the  Heart  of  Man. 

Thou  tremblest  at  the  childlike  confidence 

The  sons  of  men  repose  in  sons  of  men  ; 

O  tremble  not !     The  instinct  of  mankind, 

The  human  race  with  its  instinctive  sense, 

Stands  like  a  mountain,  fixed  immovably, 

There  where  a  proper  faith  impels  it  not : 

Faith  that  the  end  is  good  it  seeks  to  reach. 

Thou  'It  sooner  move  a  mountain  from  its  base 

To  take  ten  thousand  steps  than  stir  a  man 

To  go  a  way  he  does  not  choose,  to  do, 

To  will,  nay  think  that  which  to  him  seems  bad. 

So  truly  does  the  human  heart  abhor, 

Because  the  human  heart  so  warmly  loves  : 

Its  inner,  unseen,  future  being,  that 

It  holds  by,  as  the  sick  man  clings  by  night 

To  this :   to-morrow's  sun  shall  surely  come  ! 

You  cannot  stir  a  disobedient  man, 

He  is  a  dead  man  ;   and  a  dead  man  is 

Heavy  as  lead,  while  one  wounded  to  death, 

Upheld  and  led  by  others,  helps  himself! 

And  millions  of  the  disobedient 

Are  millions  of  the  dead,  and  heavier 

Than  all  the  lead  on  earth.    A  word,  a  word, 

Faith  in  a  single  word  alone  it  needs, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  253 

And  all  these  dead  start  to  their  feet,  walk,  fly ! 
Thou  thinkest,  surely  these  dry  bones  do  live! 
For  to  obey  is  what  all  angels  long 
To  do,  and  even  the  Devil  longs  to  obey. 


IX. 

Let  thy  Giving,  like  God's,  not  oppress. 

One  foe  alone  is  left  to  man  on  earth, 

The  greatest  enemy, —  his  first  and  last! 

All  things  on  earth  stand  so  in  dread  of  man, 

That  the  wood-pigeon,  field-lark,  forest-roe, 

Long  since  fled  from  him,  and  the  flowers  and  trees 

All  would  have  fled  from  him,  if  they  had  not 

With  their  one  foot  been  rooted  in  the  Earth  ! 

Soon  will  the  crocodile,  the  elephant, 

The  anaconda,  even  the  very  whale, 

Fly  from  him,  as  the  nimble  lightning  darts 

Down  o'er  his  house,  hurrying  to  hide  itself. 

The  thunder  and  the  rain-fall  and  the  storm, 

The  scorching  sunbeam,  and  the  winter  snow 

Well  screened  he  passes  by  contentedly  ; 

No  more  on  ea/th  nor  yet  in  Heaven  there  lives 

His  enemy,  all  things  are  kind  to  him 

And  bless  him  ;  he  has  forced  their  blessing  from  them 

Just  as  he  has  the  tiger's  spotted  skin  ! 

The  great  sea-turtle's  house,  the  ox's  horns, 

The  sago's  marrow,  and  the  cork-tree's  coat. 

And  now  so  free  of  soul,  so  proud,  so  strong, 

He  feels  but  one  to  be  his  highest  foe, — 

The  proud,  rich,  mighty,  gracious  man,  he  only 

Afflicts  him  by  his  very  graciousness, 


254  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

And  wounds  his  soul  more  bitterly  than  death  ! 

The  way  of  giving  makes  it  an  offence  ! 

To  whom  one  gives,  not  what,  honors  the  gift. 

And  now  I  say,  —  it  is  thy  brother,  man  ! 

Born  like  thyself  of  woman,  —  it  is  man. 

And  this  old  feud  one  word  brings  to  an  end : 

"  Each  is  God's  child,  and  God  gives  gifts,  to  him,"  - 

And  "  What  thou  giv'st  to  man,  thou  giv'st  to  God." 

Do  good  by  stealth,  then  !     Scarcely  press  the  hand ! 

God  also  gives  to  man  so  honorably, 

So  modestly,  he  lets  him  seem  to  earn 

By  his  brow's  sweat  the  harvest.     He  bestows  ! 

Whoso  is  godly,  feels  for  man  like  God. 


x. 

Marts  Regeneration  shall  redound  to  all  Creatures. 

Each  man  has  in  himself  his  greatest  foe, 
And  finds  no  peace,  till  reconciled  with  him. 
And  when  each  man  becomes  now  his  own  friend, 
Once  learns  the  way  and  feels  that  he  is  such, 
He  knows  no  longer  any  foe  on  earth, 
Not  even  his  own  heaven-mirrored  image,  man, — 
And  now  at  length  there  Hues  a  man.  on  earth,  — 
And  to  this  happy  man  one  day  shall  come 
The  birds  all  flying  back  again  from  heaven, 
The  forest  roe  shall  come  back  with  her  young, 
The  fish  shall  come  to  him  around  his  ship, 
And  even  the  fox  from  his  truth  shall  learn  truth  ; 
The  fables,  and  the  legends  of  old  time 
Shall  have  a  truth  they  never  had  before 
Through  love,  grace,  honor,  strength,  and  liberty. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  255 

Thus  shall  the  word  inborn  in  every  man, 
The  old  primeval  word  :  Love  God,  be  given 
Through  mediation  of  regenerate  men,  — 
Even  to  the  lamb,  roe,  horse,  and  very  ox, 
Who  even  now  rests  on  the  Sabbath  day, — 
And  without  war,  —  without  high  penal  courts  : 
Given  to  the  iron  and  hemp,  and  to  the  flowers, 
The  forests  and  the  mountains  and  the  seas, 
Through  the  pure  heart  of  man,  till  peace  at  last,  — 
Poured  from  the  fountain  of  the  universe, — 
Flows  back  again  through  him  on  all  the  world. 


XI. 

The  End  of  Life  is  to  live. 

"Why  does  man  come  on  earth,"  —  thou  askest  ?     Man 

Comes  not  on  earth  !     For  he  is  simply  here. 

"  Why  does  the  spirit  become  man  then  ?  "     To  live  ! 

Surely  ;  for  no  particular  purpose,  sure. 

The  lovely  world  of  childhood  closes  soon, 

Youth  flies  away,  and  never  more  returns, 

With  every  morning  dies  the  dream,  the  night ; 

With  every  evening  sun  the  day  is  buried  ; 

Love  consecrates  to  youth  alone  the  virgin, 

The  universe  ;  its  charm  soon  fades  for  man  ; 

Not  always  can  the  best  be  doing  good, 

To  find  the  opportunity  to  do 

A  good  deed  is  like  lighting  on  a  treasure  ; 

The  fire  of  joy  burns  dim  in  daily  cares  ; 

Man  is  not  even  conscious  all  the  time 

Of  having  eyes  and  ears  ;  how  should  he  then 

Glow  always  with  the  sense  of  fairer  gifts  ! 


256  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  sayest  well,  then  :  —  Man  is  here  to  live. 

Probably  so  ;  for  naught  else  certainly : 

To  live  what  life's  lot  is  to  every  man. 

Pity  thou  not  the  generations  past, 

As  if  dragged  hither  from  a  godlike  height ! 

The  lightning,  twenty  thousand  years  ago, 

Shot  down  out  of  the  heavens  into  the  sea 

With  just  as  eager  flashes  as  to-day,  — 

So  did  God's  life  into  humanity  ; 

The  flames  burned  never  brighter,  in  all  time, 

The  very  smallest  spark  was  bright  and  hot ; 

Never  more  vile,  inwardly  miserable, 

Unmindful  of  its  temple  than  to-day, 

Never  unloving,  was  the  inborn  spirit ; 

What  it  illumines,  that  is  bright  ;  if  now 

It  lights  itself,  the  universe,  man's  heart, 

Then  is  there  one  light  only !     But  one  love  ! 

As  life  itself  has  palpably  disclosed. 

The  miner  has  his  table  of  gold  ore, 

Which  is  no  more,  more  golden,  coined  in  small. 

To  live  continually  a  full,  rich  life,  — 

Not  foolishly  the  spirit  hither  comes, 

And  here  has  made  its  home  thousands  of  years  ; 

Thus  he  who  now  is  poor  is  still  a  man, 

He  who  now  suffers  is  a  spirit  still. 

For  none  can  fail  to  know  the  whole  of  life, 

Though  he  have  much  of  this,  little  of  that, 

Though  from  few  things  he  draws  the  joy  of  life, 

The  heart's  full  treasure  is  enough  for  each, 

Humanity  and  the  fair  universe. 

Then  live  out  rightfully  thy  life  of  man, 

And  as  an  old  man  seek  the  silent  tomb,  — 

Thou  hast  fulfilled  the  spirit's  word  and  work  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  257 

XII. 

Be  no  Tyrant  in  thy  little  World. 

And  though  seven  angels  flew  down  out  of  heaven, 

And  though  seven  devils  came  up  from  the  earth, 

And  kissed  each  other,  and  kissed  thee,  and  swore  : 

"  A  tyrant  wants  an  empire's  broad  domain," 

Believe  them  not !     'T  were  happy  for  the  world, 

If  thou  couldst  so  believe,  for  then  there  were 

One  tyrant  only  in  the  whole  wide  realm  ! 

But  now  in  the  wide  realm  no  tyrant  is ; 

There  is  no  tyranny  save  that  of  love 

And  reverence.     And  do  all  know  any  one  ? 

Does  any  one  know  all  ?     Only  by  few 

Is  each  one  in  his  little  circle  loved  ; 

On  hearts  closed  up  against  him  none  can  work, 

On  hearts  laid  bare  to  him  be  works  with  ease, 

And  lays  on  them,  with  ease  a  heavy  load, 

To  make  them  weep  I  ay,  even  bleed  to  death  ! 

Be  thou  no  tyrant  then  in  thine  own  house, 

Be  not  a  tyrant  to  the  hearts  that  love  thee, 

And  hope  more  from  thee  than  from  all  the  world. 

Tranquillity  in  the  heart  and  in  the  house, 

Liberty  in  the  house  and  in  the  heart, 

These  are  the  goods  man  needs,  which  he  himself, 

All  by  himself,  has  fearful  power  to  mar, 

Destroy !     Were  there  not  tyrants  in  the  house, 

Thousands  of  tyrants  in  as  many  houses, 

Tyrants  of  millions  of  affectionate  hearts, 

Then  were  there  peace  and  freedom  in  the  world, 

As  well  as  elsewhere  ;  bliss  as  nowhere  else  ; 

Then  would  the  will  of  others  harm  thee  not, 

Q 


258  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Each,  his  own  master,  then  would  reverence 
Freely  and  lovingly  the  loving  gods, 
Who  came  down  on  the  earth  to  visit  him, 
And  spread  within  his  house  a  heavenly  feast. 


XIII. 

Persecution  begets  Pride. 

When,  now,  the  people  say  ill  things  of  thee, 
Believe  hard  things  of  thee,  deride  and  doubt 
Whether  thou  dost  what 's  manly,  —  nay,  even  right ; 
How  all  such  doubts  stir  up  and  nerve  the  soul ! 
How  clearly,  sweetly,  thou  rememberest 
Thy  purposes  from  childhood  to  this  day  ! 
How  proudly  all  the  various  knowledge  gained, 
All  the  good  spirits,  faithful  friends  to  thee  ! 
How  calmly  glows  thy  bosom  in  the  flame, 
Richly  as  flowers  in  tempests  breathe  perfume  ! 
Maligners  lift  thy  heart  more  than  is  right ! 
Then  see  that  thou  hast  good  repute  with  men 
That  thou  mayst  be  ashamed,  modest  and  still. 

XIV. 

Charity  believeth  all  Things. 

Sternly  refuse  to  hear  of  men's  disgrace  ! 

It  is  ungodly  ;  therefore,  't  is  unmanly. 

Naught  damps  thy  courage  more  than  knowing  evil, 

Fills  thee  with  shame  that  thou  too  art  a  man, 

And  chills  thy  ardor  for  a  man's  free  strife. 

A  pure  heart,  a  pure  conscience,  but  above 

All  other  things  a  pure  clean  consciousness 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  259 

That  thinks  each  being  as  perfect  and  as  pure 

As  if  of  crystal,  pure  as  yonder  sky,  — 

Sustains  thee  in  the  region  of  the  gods, 

Clear  above  clouds  and  tempests  and  all  fear. 

And  say  not,  that  thou  need'st  to  know  mankind, 

That  thou  mayst  be  a  man  and  wisely  work. 

For  say  not  that  thou  then  dost  know  mankind, 

When  thou  know'st  ill  of  them,  —  which  they  repent. 

Man, — yes,  he  fails,  yet  he  no  failure  is! 

Then  only  know'st  thou  man,  when  thou  believ'st 

The  highest  of  him,  and  demand'st  the  hardest, 

And  in  all  cases  where  thou  makest  not 

That  high  demand,  counting  him  earthly,  there 

Only,  with  scorn  he  lets  thy  thought  come  true  ! 

Thus  gods  themselves  grow  like  our  thought  of  them  ! 

That  was  a  pure  thought  in  Mahomet,  when 

He  willed  Christ  only  should  be  judge  of  men, 

That  he  for  punishment  should  know  all  sins  ! 

And  God,  to  be  God,  pardons  every  fault, 

And  draws  to  his  heart  in  silence,  man,  his  child. 

Be  then,  like  God,  O  judge,  physician,  priest ! 


XV. 
Contemplate  calmly  the  Mutability  of  Things. 

Will  ever  men  write  thus,—  post  Christum  natum 
"Eleven  millions,  eighteen  hundred  thirty"? 
Of  such  long  periods  the  astronomers  doubt. 
What  was  not  always  will  not  always  be  ; 
This  word  in  sight,  —  look  out  upon  the  earth. 
What  has  not  always  been,  abideth  not. 
And  once  even  man  himself  was  not,  they  say. 


260  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Time  was  when  there  were  yet  no  priests  nor  kings, 

Physicians,  court-house,  temple,  golgotha, — 

All  these  humanity  has  brought  with  it. 

What  was  not  always  will  not  always  be  ; 

Once  only  have  there  been  Egyptian  kings, 

What  was  not  always,  that  abideth  not. 

Once  only  have  there  been  Hellenic  priests, 

What  was  not  always,  must  one  day  go  by 

With  us,  with  all,  to-day,  to-morrow,  ever, 

Yea,  evermore.     Then  prize  thou  not  too  high, 

What  was  not  always,  what  is  only  now  ! 

To  holy  Nature  't  is  of  more  account 

That  her  mere  rose-bushes  should  nourish  still, 

That  even  her  race  of  flies  should  not  die  out, 

Nor  her  strawberry-plants  be  all  extinct, 

Than  that  there  should  be  Pharaohs  in  Egypt, 

Than  that  there  should  be  marble  gods  in  Greece, 

Than  that  in  Italy  there  should  be  painters, 

Forever  painting  copies  of  one  myth. 

Far  more  important  still,  than  that  the  rose 

Should  ever  bloom,  the  race  of  flies  live  on. 

And  earth  not  lose  the  race  of  strawberry-plants, 

Far  more  important  is  it  in  Nature's  eyes, 

That  she  should  still  keep  man  with  all  his  dreams, 

With  all  the  mutable  works  his  mind  and  hand 

Are  ever  bringing  forth  to  adorn  his  life  ; 

A  tree,  whose  emblem  is  the  orange-tree, 

That  while  it  casts  its  blossoms  shows  new  buds, 

And  bears  perennially  ripe,  golden  fruit,  — 

Like  to  herself,  yea  really  a  blossom 

Of  her  !  nay  more,  a  green  and  swelling  fruit, — 

Which  she,  too,  casts  off,  when  it  pleases  her, 

That  'which  not  always  was,  one  day  must  fade. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  261 

XVI. 
Think  soberly  of  Thyself  and  All. 

Stand  firm  and  dignified  upon  this  earth, 

And  let  no  kind  of  dizziness  turn  thy  brain  ! 

No  dizziness  before  the  holy  past, 

From  which  old  temple  ruins   towering  up 

Look  down  reproachfully  on  these  thy  days, 

As  lingering  rocks  of  landmarks  washed  away 

Lift  up  their  heads  like  ghosts  out  of  the  sea, 

And  greet  the  ship,  the  seaman  of  to-day,  — 

To-day  's  as  old  as  any  yesterday. 

Stand  firm  and  dignified  upon  this  earth  ! 

Look  up  undizzied  at  the  dark  abyss 

Of  the  unending  grotto  of  the  stars  ; 

The  Milky  Way,  the  Nebula  of  suns, 

Take  not  for  clouds  born  of  thy  dizzy  sight ; 

Let  not  the  sun's  effulgence  smite  thee  down, — 

Earth  is  contemporary  with  the  stars  ; 

And  thou,  thou  art  a  man  upon  this  earth. 

Nor  let  the  great  men  daze  and  dizzy  thee, 

Who,  by  the  tales  the  dwarfs  spin  out,  have  wrought 

Monstrous  exploits  with  bones  of  other  men  ; 

Who,  with  the  chisel,  with  the  beaver's  hair, 

With  spirit-might  have  just  produced  themselves. 

See  clearly  each  thing's  essence.     A  great  man 

Is  but  a  bundle  of  minutiae. 

Nor  let  thy  head  be  turned  before  the  men 

Who  sit  in  purple  robes  in  golden  chairs,  — 

The  green  turf  is  the  highest  throne  for  man, 

High,  godlike,  lifting  him  by  right  divine 

O'er  starry  seas  and  mountain-peaks  of  day. 


262  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Stand  firm  and  dignified  upon  this  earth, 
And  let  no  kind  of  dizziness  have  power 
To  turn  thy  head  !     Not  even  at  the  thought 
That  thou,  beside  being  grass,  art  also  man  ! 


XVII. 

Mother  Nature's  Love  is  new  to  each  Child. 

Nature    sees    through    thee,    knows    thee,    through    and 

through, 

And  seeing  through  thee,  therefore  loves  she  thee, 
Loves  her  own  love  in  thee  ;  and  loving  thee, 
Therefore  respects  thee,  and  in  thee  herself. 
Behold  now  :  never  could  a  human  mother, 
In  all  her  human  poverty,  respect 
A  child  of  hers  so  chastely,  sacredly, 
As  Nature  from  the  first  doth  honor  thee. 
The  beam  of  light  is  new,  and  heavenly-pure 
That  greets  thee  as  a  child  ;    the  nectar  draught 
Given  thee  to  breathe,  each  mouthful  of  pure  air 
Is  fresh-prepared  in  that  great  laboratory 
Of  spirits  for  thyself,  an  effluence 
From  newest  heavens  ;   each  beaker,  nay,  each  drop 
Of  water  is  prepared  and  cooled  for  thee 
In  secret  caverns,  —  and  the  strawberry 
And  the  sweet  cherry  which  thy  childish  fingers 
Bore  to  thy  little  mouth,  not  one  of  these, 
These  treasures  man  e'er  tasted  before  thee  ; 
They  have  been  made,  compounded,  wove  for  thee  ! 
The  little  glossy  goblets  of  thy  grapes 
Only  for  thee  have  they  poured  out  the  must 
She  brought  to  thee  fresh  from  the  Maker's  hand, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  263 

From  secret  depths  of  ecstasy,  for  thee, 

For  thee  alone  prepared,  the  maid,  to  be 

Thy  consort; — and  the  children,  only  thine, 

That  none  on  earth  had  ever  owned  before, 

That  none  on  earth  will  ever  own  henceforth, 

So  long  as  Heaven  endures  !  —  the  cloud  itself 

That  sails  so  swiftly  by,  will  never  shade 

Another,  —  for  behold  it  falls  in  rain  ! 

The  breeze  will  never  cool  another  brow,  — 

For  lo  !   e'en  now  it  dies  in  yonder  brake  ! 

That  rainbow  no  man  ever  more  will  see, 

For  even  now  its  hues  fade  on  thy  sight ! 

The  lark  will  sing  this  song  to  none  again,  — 

For  from  the  clouds  she  drops  and  it  is  hushed  ! 

An  only  song  which  thou  alone  hast  heard, 

Thus  all  is  thine  uniquely  as  thyself  is. 

Yea,  know  thou  that  the  hand  is  always  new 

With  which  thou  takest  nature's  every  gift ; 

With  ever  new  and  ever  changing  hand 

Thou  givest  his  gift  to  the  beggar  ;  ah, 

And  his  hand  has  e'en  now  grown  older  too  ! 

Night  after  night  Heaven  sends  fresh  dreams  to  thee, 

Day  after  day  new  senses  and  new  will, 

New  and  original  force,  thoughts,  mind  and  life ; 

A  life  unique,  peculiar,  all  thine  own, 

Thou  livest  forth  from  the  eternal  fount, 

Entwined  with  Him  more  closely  than  the  child 

Is  with  its  mother  in  the  mother's  lap  ! 

Like  a  great  thunder-cloud  far-stretching,  full 

Of  might  and  majesty  and  fruitfulness, 

Broods  over  thee  God's  presence  ever  near, 

And  through  the  delicate  network  of  thy  frame 

Passing  the  tissue  of  the  finest  flower,  — 


264  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

The  heavenly  influence  flows  down  into  thee, 

With  blissful,  ever  new-creating  might, 

Like  streams  of  fragrance  pouring  into  flowers, 

That  stand  benumbed  and  breathe  benumbing  scents  ! 

And  thou  —  forget  not  thus  to  breathe  around 

Rich  perfume  of  pure  thought  and  of  still  love, 

Still  —  as  the  thunder-cloud  that  charges  thee  ! 


XVIII. 

Man's  Want  of  Respect  for  Man,  Nature,  God. 

Want  of  respect ;   disrespect,  yea,  contempt, 
That  is  the  mother  hive  of  all  the  faults 
That  plague  each  individual  and  then  all. 
Look  sharply  once  into  the  heart  of  man, 
And  see  what  no  one  e'er  exposed  to  thee, 
Hear,  what  at  home  in  silence  is  suppressed  ; 
Each  scarce  respects  himself,  and  if  his  life 
Should  be  a  failure,  't  were  not  much,  he  thinks, 
Not  much  were  lost  in  him,  or  even  in  all  — 
For  after  outward  things  the  world  still  strives, 
To  outward  things  alone  his  mind  was  turned, 
Yea  trained,  and  therefore  is  the  deep,  dumb  soul, 
That  dwells  in  each  one  sadly  in  the  right ; 
It  deems,  and  each  one  deems,  a  neighbor  may 
Perchance  be  useful  still  for  this  or  that ; 
For  all  the  rest  he  knows,  he  feels  contempt,  — 
And  so  in  the  wide  circle  each  one  does  ; 
What  but  a  dismally  cold  world  can  rise, 
If  it  must  spring  forth  out  of  such  men's  brain ! 
And  saving  wife  and  children  they  esteem 
Scarcely  twelve  human  beings  out  of  all 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  265 

That  earth  in  her  whole  course  has  e'er  produced  ; 

And  only  in  some  favored  hours  do  these 

Float  by  them,  still  as  shadowy  images, 

Stirring  them  scarcely  more  than  moon  or  stars  !  — 

But  now  the  better  son  of  earth  shall  scarce 

Step  from  his  house,  before  with  thoughtful  mind 

And  feeling  heart  and  studious  eye  he  notes 

The  grass  and  flowers  beneath  his  feet,  and  proves 

The  shadow,  looking  upward  to  the  sun 

That  paints  it  on  the  carpet  of  the  lawn  ! 

—  And  soon  he  recognizes,  too,  the  heart 

Of  the  shadow,  which  in  his  own  bosom  beats, 

With  his  own  heart  all  other  human  hearts, 

And  with  the  hearts  of  men  the  heart  of  God  ! 


XIX. 

True  Praise  reveals  to  Man  the  God  in  him. 

There  lies  before  thee  the  old  silver  coin, 
The  inscription  blurred,  the  image  quite  a  blank, 
And  only  a  vague  reverence  now  it  stirs. 
But  now  the  assayer  heats  it  on  the  coals,  — 
And  from  the  surface  blurred  and  blank,  behold  ! 
The  old  inscription  rises  and  stands  forth 
And  glowing  speaks  the  words  it  spoke  of  old. 
The  godlike  image  gleams  out  in  the  fire 
Sublimely  fair  ;  its  eye  looks  up  at  thee, 
The  forehead  kindles,  the  lip  burns  to  speak, 
And  even  the  hair  seems  in  a  gentle  blaze. 
So  he  who  praises  thee  does  with  thy  heart ! 
The  warmth  of  praise  rekindles  all  thy  faults, 
Each  word  distinctly  speaks  to  thee  again, 


266  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  hearest  them  come  up  as  from  a  shaft ! 

Whatever  in  the  coinage  of  thy  life 

Miscarried,  where  the  silver  was  alloyed, 

Where  levity  despised  devoted  work, 

All  that  thou  feelest,  glowing  with  the  praise  ! 

A  modest  man  praise  drives  into  himself, 

Till,  lost  in  thought  of  self,  he  haply  weeps  ! 

And  glows  all  through  like  the  old  silver  coin  ! 

Yet  in  the  fire  the  godlike  image  too, 

In  its  old  beauty,  has  he  seen  again  ; 

Its  lustrous  eye  has  turned  on  him  its  glance, 

Hinting  and  signaling  to  him  anew 

All  the  exalted  and  ennobling  ends 

For  which  in  word  and  work  he  ever  strove, 

And  to  his  death  will  never  cease  to  strive,  — 

A  modest  man  praise  drives  into  himself, 

Till,  lost  in  thought  of  self,  —  he  haply  weeps  ! 

And  glows  all  through  like  the  old  silver  coin ! 


XX. 

Swearing  profanes  the  Lord^s  Day  every  Day, 

"Thou  swearest?  —  know'st  thou  not  it  is  to-day 

Sunday  and  church  day,  too,  when  hundreds  pray  ? " 

O  rather  in  thy  secret  soul  know  this, 

As  base  to  all  thy  feeling  let  it  lie, 

And  sound  as  constant  keynote  of  thy  words  : 

To-day,  to-day  and  always  is    "  sun-day," 

Bright  with  ten  thousand  suns  and    "  a  high  day, 

A  holy  festival  of  all  that  live." 

Now  are  a  thousand  souls  born  into  life, 

Now  are  a  thousand  men  right  at  thy  side, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  267 

Transfigured,  —  they  stand  up,  unseen  by  thee 

In  this  one  mighty  sanctuary,  in  this 

"  House  of  the  Lord,"   true  angels  of  the  church. 

What    means    "good    standing"?  —  standing    up    'gainst 

sin  ! 

Stand  well,  then,  soul !     Let  thoughts  and  feelings  be 
Worthy  thy  place  !  pure  words,  soft  speech,  be  thine  ! 
Hast  thou  not  seen  how  modest  and  how  still, 
How  reverent,  children  stand  beside  the  dead, 
Step  softly  round  the  coffin  and  speak  low, 
As  if  God  lay  therein  !     If  God  did  lie 
A  coffined  corpse,  thou  would'st  not  rage  and  curse, 
With  frantic  gestures,  'gainst  thy  brother  man  ! 
But  now  God  lives  and  moves  above,  beneath ; 
He  hears,  he  sees,  sees  thee  and  hears  thy  words  ! 
And  thou  wilt  have  less  reverence  than  the  child  ! 


XXI. 

Nature  glorified  in  family  Love. 

It  pains  me  oft  to  see  the  faithfulness 
Of  parents,  who  beneath  the  open  heaven  — 
In  the  clear  radiance  of  the  beaming  sun 
Journeying  along  above  their  ancient  earth  — 
Rule  in  the  house,  the  children  all  their  thought, 
Forgetting  in  the  sweet  and  narrow  round 
Their  interest  in  the  broad  humanity. 
The  mother  sews  a  garment  for  the  girl ; 
The  father  bleaches  linen  for  the  boy, 
Proud  of  the  little  one  now  grown  so  big, 
That  he  will  soon  go  forth  now  from  the  house, 
Into  the  strange  world,  who  to-day  is  still 


268  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

At  school  with  little  sister !  —  They  're  alone, 

And  stillness  reigns  in  garden  and  in  house 

Round  the  good,  faithful,  life-enjoying  pair. 

And  I  have  need  of  all  my  self-control, 

To  keep  the  tears  from  starting  to  my  eyes. 

What  now  consoles  me,  so  that  I  can  look 

With  pleasure  on  so  narrow,  pleased  a  life?  — 

In  every  race  of  creatures  Nature  lives 

Full  and  complete  within  and  round  about; 

The  Eternal  Love  resides  in  every  pair ; 

Nor  for  its  children  all  could  even  that  love 

Itself  provide  more  conscientiously, 

More  beautifully  than  by  placing  them 

Beneath  a  roof  and  in  a  mother's  care ! 

So  in  the  little  cot  here  love  now  lives, 

Robing  herself  with  sunbeams  of  the  heavens, 

Making  her  steps  soft  with  green  carpeting, 

Wooing  a  little  runnel  through  the  flowers, 

Shading  with  vines  her  window  gracefully, 

And  finding  pleasure  in  her  life,  her  rule 

In  such  a  sweet  familiar  privacy,  — 

Taking  in  all  these  transitory  forms 

A  forward  step  into  futurity's 

Great  hall,  into  the  earth's  eternal  spring. 

Now  come  with  glee  brother  and  sister  home, 

The  mother  holds  the  garment  up,  all  made ! 

The  father,  meanwhile,  shaking  down  ripe  pears 

That  shine  like  wax,  —  like   gold, — like  God's  own  work 

For  children,  and  the  children  read  thereon,  — 

Clear  as  a  script  the  blind  man's  touch  might  spell:  — 

The  father's  old  love  in  the  newest  fruit. 

It  is  not  true  that  Paradise  is  lost, — 

'T  is  just  begun,  —  it  comes  when  children  come! 

And  in  the  garden,  lo,  the  Father  walks ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  269 

XXII. 
One  bad  Habit  like  a  Fly. 

I  liken  a  bad  habit  to  a  fly. 

Thou  chasest  it  away  at  intervals 

A  hundred  times ;   still  it  comes  back  again 

And  plagues  thee  worse  and  worse.     But  if  thou  wiit 

Be  rid  of  it  forever,  —  ward  it  off 

With  ceaseless  and  unwearied  blows  awhile, 

Even  when  it  seems  not  to  be  there,  —  meanwhile 

It  sits  in  snug  concealment  on  thy  neck; 

Thence  also  scare  it !     It  will  stay  away. 

No  holding  fast  to  him,  —  it  wisely  thinks! 

XXIII. 

Everything  beautiful  in  his  Time. 

Misfortune  and  good  fortune  are  things  past, 

Else  are  they  things  that  have  not  yet  arrived, 

And  what  is  past,  is  done  irrevocably, — 

It  is  a  form  of  Nature  now  to  man, 

And  only  by  a  beauteous,  holy  law 

It  came  to  pass,  and  Nature  welcomed  it! 

Dissatisfaction  with  the  thing  that  's  done, 

This  is  what  makes  men  miserable  !    content 

With  what  is  done,  this  is  men's  happiness. 

What  now  is  wise  in  passing  through  this  world  ? 

To  know  what  Nature  brings  to  best  account, 

To  make  of  it  a  life,  yea,  festival, 

As  children  do  with  snow,  which,  fluttering  down 

Silently,  buries  all  their  pleasant  days. 


270  THE   LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  never  hold  thy  life  a  finished  thing  ! 
Then  fortune,  good  or  bad,  is  not  yet  come, 
Then  life  has  not  yet  happened ;   't  is  to  be ! 
Man  has  material  yet  for  bliss  and  life 
Till  the  last  hour,  even  death  itself  is  such, 
Which  in  a  godlike  way  pronounces  good, 
And  blesses  what  is  done  !     For  sure  't  was  good, 
True,  human,  heavenly  in  God's  beauteous  world, 
And  in  the  good  heart  long  since  beautiful. 


XXIV. 
Stand  divinely  in  thy  Lot. 

Deem  not  that  this  is  human  happiness, 

Serene,  sublime,  unchanging  happiness, 

To  know  no  pain,  enjoying  changelessly 

On  earth  the  cloudless  favor  of  the  gods. 

No,  —  but  to  take  one's  share  of  weal  and  woe, 

—  The  extract  both  of  bitter  and  of  sweet, 
From  the  whole  lump  of  sorrow  and  of  joy, 
The  lot  appointed  to  all   human  kind, 
Whereof  each  woe  may  fall  to  any  one, 
And  every  good  may  fall  to  any  one, 

Yet  but  a  measured  part  can  light  on  each, 

—  One's  griefs  with  heavenly  sweetness  to  endure, 
One's  bliss  with  heavenly  sweetness  to  enjoy, 
Building  all  up  into  a  human  shape  : 

The  heart  yet  young  and  the  old  heart  no  less, 
The  tears,  the  smiles,  the  yearnings  of  our  lot, 
The  flight  of  men,  the  love  of  near  and  dear, 
The  throng  of  living,  death  of  loving  ones, 
One's  own  encroaching  age,  approaching  death. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  this,  then,  deem  thou  human  happiness, 

Serene,  sublime,  unchanging  happiness  ! 

To  live  with  all  one's  heart  right  in  the  days, 

An  intimate  inmate  of  their  joy  and  woe, 

And  then,  when  one  draws  breath  again  and  thinks, 

Thinks  of  himself,  thinks  of  his  lot,  his  heart, 

And  of  the  power  that  shapes  his  life  for  him, 

Then  to  stand  clearly  up  before  one's  spirit, 

And  see :    who  't  is  that  suffers  and  enjoys : 

A  man !     And  who  then  lives  man's  life  :    a  god ! 

And  see :    what  life  he  lives :   the  life  of  God ! 


xxv. 
Each  Creature's  Life  dear  to  him. 

Life  soon  becomes  so  dear  to  every  one, 
By  habit,  indispensable  !     And  yet 
It  is  to  each  one  ever  a  new  scene, 
To  woodland  roe  and  flower-haunting  bee, 
So  new,  unheard-of,  never  felt  before  ! 
That  thou,  as  man,  thy  life  so  lovest  here, 
Is  but  a  proof  that  every  form  of  being, 
Every  condition,  —  wheresoe'er  it  be,  — 
Has  quite  peculiar  worth  and  preciousness, 
Else  men  would  never  love  this  life  so  much ; 
Nor  woodland  roe,  nor  flower-haunting  bee, 
Nor  other  creature,  would  so  love  its  type. 
Each  finds  as  worthy  to  be  loved  and  lived 
Existence  here,  as  being  is  to  God ; 
And  each  is  happy  as  a  God  therein ; 
Well,  then,  I  say,  fear  not  thou  to  live  on  ! 
Fear  not  thou  to  live  elsewhere,  anywhere ! 


271 


272  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  very  swallow  flies  with  swallow's  wings, 

And  gives  up  her  sweet  life  (which  is  not  death). 

Intoxicated  and  infatuated 

By  Nature's  self,  instinctively  she  flies, 

And  fain  would  be  a  swallow  evermore, 

Not  knowing  who,  as  swallow,  lives  in  her. 

And  smiling,  man  beholds  the  swallow's  flight, 

And  yet  he  smiles  not  at  his  own  fond  love. 

—  Such  is  the  common  glow,  the  general  thrill, 

The  sympathetic,  ever-busy  might 

Of  the  bright  consciousness  of  this  vast  whole,  — 

Solid,  yet  pliant  as  the  power  of  gold : 

Breathed  o'er  an  image,  to  be  gold,  at  last, 

Through  thousand  transformations  always  gold! 


XXVI. 

Transformation  of  the  Caterpillar  and  of  Man. 

Now  the  gay  colored  caterpillars  spin 

Their  web  and  winding-sheet  around  themselves, 

And  by  the  evening  sun's  great  golden  lamp, 

Take,  in  the  holy  banquet  hall  of  earth, 

One  more  last  meal,  —  and  now  of  their  green  leaves, 

Will  they  from  this  time  forth  in  this  their  world, 

Not  eat  again,  and  of  this  purple  dew 

Not  sip  again,  until  they  drink  it  new 

In  quite  another,  —  and  to  them  new  world, 

And  yet  the  same,  wherein  the  butterfly 

Knows  not  the  worm,  nor  yet  doth  the  worm  know 

The  butterfly,  the  green,  the  purple  dew, 

The  sun,  the  golden  table  of  the  earth, 

That  still  abides,  while  they  alone  are  changed. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  273 

Out  of  this  worm  now  grows  a  chrysalis,  — 

And  yet  this  being,  man  accounts  as  naught, 

Whereas  of  godlike  Nature  't  is  a  type, 

The  mother  of  all  creatures,  only  one, 

Who  is  all  mothers, — universal  wife:  — 

Of  him,  that  dearest  little  merry  spouse, 

The  gay-dressed,  fiery-tempered  humming-bird, 

Of  the  great  whale,  and  of  the  elephant, 

Of  the  blind  worm  down  in  the  darksome  earth, 

And  of  the  flower-dust  in  the  air  no  less ! 

"  Well,  of  the  chrysalis  a  butterfly 

Comes,  and  lays  eggs  again,  and  then  these  eggs 

Soon  grow  to  worms,"  —  and  think'st  thou  that  is  all  ? 

What  were  an  egg,  that  should  possess  such  power, 

Far  beyond  that  of  all  the  elements  ! 

No !     Nature  throws  herself  into  this  egg, 

With  her  creative  and  her  shaping  force, 

She  swells  it  with  her  most  mysterious, 

Divinest  essence  !     She  despises  not 

And  never  will,  —  "  to  be  a  caterpillar  !  " 

"To  be  a  summer-apple,  —  swan, — or  worm!" 

And  could'st  thou  only  search  the  blade  of  grass, 

Thou  would'st  not  find  the  blade  of  grass,  but  her 

With  all  her  force  bound  by  the  sweetest  spell 

To  the  short  round  of  summer's  circling  hours ; 

And  so  't  is  not  the  serpent's  egg  becomes 

The  serpent,  nor  the  aster's  egg,  the  still, 

Brown  seed  grain,  that  becomes  the  aster,  nor 

Does  the  ostrich's  egg  become  the  ostrich ! 

No  father  —  mother  —  can  become  their  child. 

But  with  the  first  deep  stir  of  yearning  love 

Nature  becomes :   what  in  her  life  comes  forth. 

And  all  that  she  is,  is  alike,  is  holy. 


274  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

'T  is  of  her  blood,  it  is  her  blood,  her  life ; 

'T  is  of  her  soul,  it  is  her  soul,  her  love. 

And  were  it  now  thy  lot  to  be  a  snail, 

With  ever  so  beautiful  stripes,  purple  and  gold, — 

Or  were  thy  lot  to  be  a  carnation  pink, 

With  ever  so  beautiful,  tender,  fiery  spots, 

How  would'st  thou  shudder,  how  thy  sickening  heart 

Would  sink  within  thee,  just  as  if  the  Shah 

Of  Persia  were  condemned  to  be  a  rose, — 

Ay,  even  a  drop  of  the  essential  oil 

Of  rose,  —  an  ostrich  or  a  nightingale,  — 

And  yet  he  is  but  dust!   an  element, 

Soul,  Nature,  and  remains  but  soul  and  life, 

Whatever  he  was  as  man,  in  form  and  speech. 

And  more  than  Nature, — nothing,  no  man,  is. 

Whate'er  her  hand  creates,  each  blade  of  grass, 

Shows  her  whole  art;  in  every  single  thing 

That  lives,  is  all  her  love  ;  nay,  she  herself, 

Is  all,  and  so  possesses  all  that  is, 

And  even  her  spirit,  that  is  she  herself, 

And  she  is  it ;    not  a  dead  grain  of  sand, 

Living  apart  from  Nature,  but  would  be 

Her  most  terrific  foe,  —  a  second  spirit! 

A  second  God  !     But  tremble  not,  O  soul ! 

There  is  but  only  one.     Yet  One  there  is, 

As  truly  as  this  worm  here  shrouds  Himself; 

And  if  He  is,  and  without  Him  is  naught, 

Then  fills  He  all  with  equal  art  and  love.— 

What  could  there  be  in  the  wide  realm  of  things, 

Thou  would'st  not  freely  be,  become,  remain  ; 

What  would'st  not  dare  to  be,  or  great  or  small, 

Or  naught,  since  all  is  equally  divine, 

Alike  in  make,  material,  skill,  and  love. 


275 


THE  LAYMAN' >S  BREVIARY. 

Art  thou  not  glad  to  be  —  and  always  —  man  ! 
Therefore  no  being  in  the  universe 
Dreads  death  :   a  death,  —  his  death,  save  only  man, 
Because  he  thinks  to  know  death,  —  and  yet  scarce 
Thinks  of  death  for  the  joy  he  takes  in  man,  .... 
—  In  the  Shah  of  Persia,  —  and  of  every  hut, — 
Man,  image  of  his  God,  which  once  the  earth 
Yet  knew  not,  and  will  one  day  know  no  more. 


XXVII. 
Sorrow  for  Death  turned  to  Joy. 

The  one  old  sorrow  oft  comes  over  thee, 

More  clearly  't  is  renewed  at  each  return,  — 

The  sorrow  that  thou  sharest  with  the  sky, 

The  Spring-time,  yes,  thou  sharest  it  with  God, 

On  whom,  as  on  the  mirror  of  the  world 

It  is  cast  back  from  everything  that  lives ! 

The  sorrow  that  the  pure,  glad,  heavenly  soul 

Here  to  the  ancient  earth  must  link  itself, 

And  to  the  ancient  Death.     The  Soul  must  mourn 

The  breath  that  sheds  a  blight  upon  the  bloom 

Of  all  her  flowers  :    the  dust  that  blinds  her  eyes 

So  that  she  cannot  see  her  loved  ones  more ; 

The  dust  that  seals  their  lips  and  chokes  their  breath  ! 

The  Beautiful  must  wed  that  which  is  dark, 

Fleeting,  yet  what  it  needs  to  work  withal! 

That  it  may  know  itself,  and  may  be  known, 

Now,  through  a  thousand  blooming  forms,  it  lives. 

On  light  and  perishable  canvas  must 

The  artist  paint  the  glorious,  glowing  shapes 

That  came  to  him  from  the  pure  spirit  world : 


276  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  singer  must  breathe  out  into  the  air 

The  tender,  touching  tones  that  die  at  once, 

And  with  them,  too,  breathes  out  .his  very  soul, 

Which,  like  light  air,  itself  then  floats  away ; 

The  good  must  hide  his  goodness  in  a  loaf, 

Must  hide  it  in  a  gold  piece,  in  a  sheep, 

Sent,  to  the  poor  :    the  poor  must  recognize 

The  goodness  in  the  sheep  or  in  the  bread, 

And  so  the  bread  becomes  — a  holy  bread, 

The  sheep  becomes  a  consecrated  sheep, 

And  the  whole  world,  the  body  Love  puts  on, 

And  even  the  dust,  the  heavenly-carrier, 

Herald  of  Beauty,  mouth  of  all  the  gods,  — 

But  ah,  the  tongue  of  gods  is  also  dust ! 

And  instantly  after  the  finest  deed, 

Their  very  arm  falls  from  its  shoulder-blade, 

And  what  was  joined  to  dust,  is  turned  to  dust 

Rejoice,  then,  in  the  rainbow!     Nay,  in  that 

Rejoice  not !  in  all  beauteous  hues  rejoice 

For  the  Sun's  sake,  whose  magic  called  them  forth, 

Who  evermore  returns,  forever  bides  : 

The  inner  sun  that  beautifies  the  world. 

So  by  and  by  shall  things  become  to  thee 

Transparent,  and  the  world  a  crystal  sphere 

Wherein  serenely  life  and  beauty  sleep  ! 


XXVIII. 
Virtue  not  virtuous  till  easy. 

Those  are  the  easy  and  inferior  virtues 
Which  thou  canst  exercise  on  evil  men 
Patience,  forgiveness,  pity,  helpfulness, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  277 

Respect,  truth,  tenderness,  self-sacrifice, — 

Thy  very  life,  which  they  sometimes  shall  need. 

They  are  the  poor,  and  so  they  leave  thee  poor 

In  strength  and  act,  poor  in  the  genuine  life. 

The  virtues,  which  begin  with  faulty  men, 

But  cease  with  good  ones,  —  these  are  few  and  small; 

They  fade,  and  silently  must  disappear 

As  good  and  happy  beings  multiply. 

(If  God  —  so  please  him — has  not  laid  the  base 

Of  this  new  world  in  sin  and  woe  and  tears,) 

So  long  as  thou  still  hearest  virtue's  name, 

So  long  believe  thou  not  that  men  are  good. 

What  dost  thou  now  with  the  good  men,  I  pray, 

Who  meet  thee,  circle  thee,  innumerable, 

Like  noble  trees  hung  full  with  juicy  fruits  ? 

What  dost  thou  with  thyself  and  of  thyself? 

What  with  mild  Nature,  the  beneficent  ? 

What  with  the  flowers,  that  in  their  friendliness 

Ne'er  do  thee  wrong  ?    What  dost  thou  with  the  dead, 

Who  lie  before  thee  in  their  coffined  sleep, 

Who  cannot  with  a  finger  trouble  thee, 

Or  one  dark  glance  of  envy  ?     What  with  God  ? 

Virtue  must  grow  an  easier  task  to  thee, 

O  friend,  O  friend  of  man  and  friend  of  God  ; 

He  never  knew  her  who  finds  virtue  hard  ! 

Make  her  thy  joy,  thy  passion !     And  at  last 

Transfigured  find  her  to  her  simple  self! 

A  simple  sense  of  being  and  of  love  ! 


278  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


XXIX. 

Comparison  kills  Things. 

Thought  makes  thee  great ;  but  Feeling  makes  thee  rich, 

It  fills  out  greatness.     Only  after-thought 

Dissolves  and  brings  things  to  corruption  soon ! 

Comparison  is  the  death  of  things,  and  he 

Dies  with  them  who  compares.     Out  from  their  soil 

Thou  pluck'st  them  like  carnations  in  full  bloom, 

Thou  tearest  off  the  flowers  and  plantest  them 

In  the  hot  sunshine,  as  a  child  sticks  flowers 

In  his  small  garden,  where  they  droop  and  die. 

Thou  tearest  them  from  the  world's  all-consecrating 

Embrace  and  its  all-beautifying  power, 

Thou  tak'st  the  water-lily  from  the  pond, 

Tearest  the  sun  away  from  heaven,  and  fain 

Wouldst  scoop  it  up  out  of  the  water-pail. 

Thou  robbest  the  thing  likened  of  its  power, 

The  holy,  inborn,  self-subsistent  power, 

The  power  to  be  a  part  of  Nature's  self: 

The  eye  God  sees  with  and  itself  divine. 

That  which  is  self  to  thee,  is  godlike,  whole  ; 

What  is  no  self  is  naught  and  good  for  naught. 

But  thou  in  the  divine  alone  shalt  stand 

And  live.     Dwelling  in  love,  to  look  with  love, 

To  see  things  in  one's  own  first  blissfulness  : 

That  is  the  wondrous  mystery  of  man, 

Key  to  his  blessedness,  his  love  and  life. 

Now,  wilt  thou  love,  adore,  and  taste  of  bliss, 

Compare  no  thing  !     Take  all  things  pure  and  whole ! 

So  does  the  beggar  take  the  very  crust 

From  out  thy  hand  as  an  entire  gift, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


279 


As  thy  full  love  and  the  full  love  of  God. 

From  God's  hand  take  thou  all  divinely,  too  ; 

And  wouldst  thou  spoil  the  rose  which  thou  hast  plucked, 

Rob  of  her  charms  the  fair  bride  thou  hast  won, 

Ay,  wouldst  thou  break  thy  faith  with  thine  own  wife, 

From  thine  own  children  turn  away  thy  heart, 

Make  the  best  man  seem  common  in  thy  sight, 

Steal  merit  from  the  artist,  from  the  work 

Its  glory,  from  the  stars  their  brilliancy, — 

Thou  hast  but  to  compare  them,  —  that  is  all! 

Compare  thou  God,  —  the  act  deposes  Him. 


XXX. 

Time's  Ruins  exalt  a  right  Soul. 

"  I  looked  where  once  a  hundred  cities  stodd,  — 

I  found  but  ashes  in  the  place  and  stones  ; 

Of  all  their  glory  naught  but  earth  was  left." 

—  Nothing  but  earth  ?     But  was  not,  then,  the  earth 

Still  there  ?   heaped  up  in  silence  like  green  grave,  — 

And  was  she  not,  I  pray,  still  bringing  forth 

The  old  eternal  miracles,  'midst  all 

The  fresh,  spring  influence  she  breathed  around  ! 

Look,  then,  my  eye !     A  mighty  spirit  once 

Swept  through  the  world !     Into  this  very  mould 

It  entered  and  rose  up  as  living  gods, 

Exalted  spirits,  men  divinely  fair ; 

It  loved  here  :    lived  here  ;   here  long  time  abode, 

Built  houses,  graves,  and  buried  ;   but  itself 

Is  not  yet  buried  ;   like  a  hurricane 

It  swept  the  earth, — and  took  itself  off,  too! 

And  what  it  was  can  here  no  more  be  found 


280  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

In  Ilion's  hills  and  mummy-wrappages  ! 

Egypt  to-day  lies  nowhere  on  the  earth, 

Nowhere  in  heaven  to-day  Judaea  lies, 

Carried  aloft ;    nowhere  in  upper  space 

Jerusalem  lies,  nor  evermore  will  lie, 

Save  there  where  heaps  of  rubbish  mark  its  place;' 

Carthage  and  Corinth,  Athens  and  old  Rome, 

They  lie  no  more  on  earth,  —  no  causeway  leads 

The  traveller  to  their  gates,  that  stand  this  day, 

No  pilgrim  at  their  fountains  slakes  his  thirst 

That  gush  to-day,  and  in  their  havens  rides 

No  ship  to-day,  from  all  the  storms  secure, 

Under  the  old  gray  steersman's  pilotage  ! 

Thou  strikest  on  these  columns  with  thy  hand,  — 

Yet  dost  not  touch  them  !     And  these  ruins  here, 

These  stones,  these  crumbled  fragments  strewn  around, 

Are  not  memorials,  witnesses,  of  earth, 

And  of  its  rocks;  no,  each  one  of  these  stones 

Has  been  a  holy  bone  of  the  great  spirit 

Of  the  creation  that  once  swayed  it  here  ; 

And  is  a  nobler  voucher  than  the  moon 

That  here  the  spirit  shaped  itself  a  world. 

And  see,  ay  see  !   now  comes  the  selfsame  spirit 

As  a  late  pilgrim,  wondering  at  himself 

In  these  the  ruins  of  his  olden  time  ; 

And  in  the  old  time  opening  on  him  here, 

He  only  sees  his  being  running  on 

In  one  eternal  course  of  changelessness,  — 

In  grayest  age  so  venerably  old, 

In  holy  Now  so  venerably  young, 

And  dreams,  in  human  shape,  that  his  eyes  weep 

Ah,  o'er  the  godlike  beauty  that  has  set,  — 

But  only  weeps  at  his  immortal  life, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  281 

The  ever-touching,  ever-beautiful ! 

And  were  there  no  gray  hair  in  all  the  world, 

No  venerable  weather-gray  old  walls, — 

By  what,  then,  would  the  spirit  know  its  age, 

As  the  tree's  years  are  counted  by  its  rings  ! 

Yet  when  the  flood-tide  surges,  spooms,  and  sweeps 

Above  the  grave-mounds  of  old  heroes  dead, 

When  the  last  rain  from  out  the  latest  clouds, 

When  stormy  time  on  the  old  graves  of  kings 

Devours  and  rattles,  crumbles  and  destroys, — 

That  is  not  Death,  that  sweeps  away  the  dead ! 

That  is  the  holy  stream  of  holy  life, 

Which  with  mild,  kindly  face,  not  rude  and  wild, 

Draws  that  into  its  waves,  which  is  no  more  ! 

So  melt  the  frozen  pictures  of  the  ice 

At  spring's  warm  breath  into  the  pond  again  ! 

So  devotees  into  the  furnace  fling, 

In  which  the  master  casts  a  great  new  bell, 

To  give  it,  and  their  names,  a  finer  ring, 

The  silver  beaker  and  the  golden  bowl, 

To  swell  the  molten  metal's  fiery  flood ! 

Exulting  in  the  work  and  sacrifice 

Which  they  have  furthered  with  their  dearest  wealth ! 

And  now  what  superstition  does,  can  man 

Not  do  ?     The  superstition  that  casts  down 

The  beaker's  offering  into  the  bell-flood, 

Does  it  not  spring  from  the  serenely  great 

Devotion  of  the  sacrificing  soul, 

That,  looking  on  with  joy,  sees  ruins  melt 

In  the  eternal  master's  mighty  forge  ! 

Then  see  with  joy  thy  temples  crumble  down  ; 

For  He  who  melts  them  honors  thee ;   for  thee 

And  for  himself  erecting  a  new  work. 


282  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

What  was,  thou  understand'st  not,  else  wert  dead  ; 
What  is,  thou  understandest,  as  thyself, 
Else  wert  thou  not  alive  !     Then  let  thyself 
Sink  into  that  which  evermore  springs  forth, 
Then  art  thou  sunk  and  swallowed  in  thy  life. 


XXXI. 

True  Worth  asks  no  Appraiser. 

He  who  must  see  his  purpose,  work  and  worth 

By  the  price-current  of  the  world  appraised, 

Paid  for,  by  men,  and  then,  and  not  till  then, 

Can  venture  to  appraise,  himself,  his  work, 

Worth,  purpose,  life,  —  ay,  and  the  world  itself, 

He  is  a  miserable  man  !     He  is 

Still  more,  he  is  a  fool  for  doing  so  ! 

What  would  men  haply,  of  their  own  accord, 

Give  God  in  money  for  the   glorious 

Diurnal  light  and  guidance  of  the  Sun  ? 

What  money-price  for  a  green-shaded  walk 

At  blossom-time  'mid  songs  of  nightingales  ? 

Not  much  !     For  men  have  naught  in  shape  of  gold 

But  what  their  strength  and  industry  have  earned  ; 

Who  would  pay  largely  for  a  blade  of  grass, 

Or  for  a  leaf?     So  fine  a  masterpiece, 

A  human  artist  well  might  want  to  die, 

If  cautiously  some  child  should  offer  him 

His  long  saved  penny  for  the  chestnut-blow ! 

And  Michel  Angelo  would  hang  himself 

Should  some  boor  haply  driving  home  his  kine 

On  the  fair  evening  painted  by  himself, 

Scarce  once  look  up,  and  then  say  only  this  : 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  283 

"By  the  sun's  look  it  will  be  foul  to-morrow." 

How  then  shall  man  ask  for  his  handiwork, 

For  all  his  industry  of  days  and  nights, 

Higher  reward,  than  God  for  a  God's  work  ? 

Or  cherish  in  his  heart  more  pride  of  worth, 

Than  God,  the  modest,  in  his  heart  divine  ? 

And  lo !  the  gard'ner-maiden  sells  thee  now 

A  bunch  of  roses  for  a  penny  or  two  ! 

And  eyes  admiringly  the  beauteous  flowers, 

And  feels  the  proper  value  of  the  works  ! 

And  gives  it  grudgingly  !     Thy  sense  of  it 

It  was,  that  won  from  her  the  heavenly  things, 

Which  have  no  knowledge  of  her,  none  of  you, 

To  which  there  cleaves  no  stain  or  sign  of  earth  ! 

And  no  less  pure  is  thy  heart's  sense  of  them. 

Mark  thou  :     In  all  things  man  knows  well  to  prize 

Right  highly  the  ineffable,  divine 

Value,  't  is  that  he  prizes  in  his  bride, 

His  wife,  the  troop  of  children  round  his  hearth  ; 

Yet  is  this  value,  which  no  price  can  tell, 

In  godlike  stillness  understood,  concealed  ! 

And  all  the  sweeter  is  its  secret  force. 

Be  then  at  ease  about  poor  human  souls  ! 

But  here  's  another  treasure  claims  thy  thought : 

The  worth  thy  busy  hands  possess  for  thee, 

The  prosperous,  though  unambitious  work, 

The  well-tilled  field,  the  furrow  cleanly  cut, 

The  buxom  tree,  the  vine  well-trimmed  and  trained, 

Whose  hundred  clusters  speak  its  silent  thanks,  — 

Thy  little  daughter's  neatly  braided  hair, 

The  old  man  borne  with  reverence  to  the  grave, 

The  true  and  timely  word,  the  well-spent  day, 

And,  as  the  harvest  of  a  day's  pure  life, 


284  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  quiet  evening  hour,  the  dreamless  sleep, 

And  every  well-accomplished  human  work ! 

And  yet  a  greater  treasure  claims  thy  thought : 

The  quiet  sense  of  manhood,  where  not  even 

Modesty  dwells,  which  in  still  self-content, 

Self-fruitfulness,  brings  forth  its  manly  fruits, 

And  sheds  upon  its  day  and  its  day's  work 

The  illumination  of  a  light  which  it 

Sees  not  because  it  is  the  light,  but  which 

Fills  earth  with  beauty,  and  the  heavens  with  brightness 

As  of  a  sunshine,  and  man's  heart  with  bliss. 

Who  truly  lives  then  needs  no  looking-glass 

Of  human  praise,  and  will  avoid  all  such  ; 

Him  no  man  needs  to  tell  what  he  is  worth, 

And  what  the  worth  of  that  he  does  and  makes  ; 

For  how  he  feels  no  one  can  say  to  him. 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

SEPTEMBER. 


SEPTEMBER. 


I.  The  Cameo. 

II.  The  Father  consoled  over  his  Child's  Coffin. 

III.  How  to  bear  little  Troubles. 

IV.  Recovery  from  past  Faults. 
V.  All  is  born  of  Thought. 

VI.  Humanity  bears  its  Lot  with  Divine  Willingness. 

VII.  Marriages  made  in  Heaven. 

VIII.  Honor  Woman,  the  Wife  and  the  Mother. 

IX.  Be  Reasonable  with  the  Unreasonable. 

X.  Man's  Work  its  own  Reward. 

XL  The  Grave,  seen  in  Divine  Light. 

XII.  The  Beauty  of  Moderation. 

XIII.  Sleep  and  Old  Age. 

XIV.  Learn  Calmness  of  Nature. 

XV.  Man,  the  Immortal,  alone  can  Die. 

XVI.  Death,  Man's  Angel-Friend. 

XVII.  Keep  along  with  God's  great  Flock. 

XVIII.  The  City  of  the  Gods  is  in  Man's  Being. 

XIX.  The  Mountain  of  Woes  lifts  Man  to  Heaven. 

XX.  Pride  of  Manhood. 

XXI.  The  Cry  of  Humanity,  God's  Voice. 

XXII.  A  manly  Life  Man's  main  Business. 

XXIII.  Creation  never  finished. 

XXIV.  The  Child's  World  and  the  Man's. 
XXV.  How  many  Elements  are  there  ? 

XXVI.  The  Child's  bleeding  Finger. 

XXVII.  Old  Things  made  new. 

XXVIII.  Take  all  Things  as  natural. 

XXIX.  Discontent  is  Despite  to  God. 

XXX.  Love  those  round  thee,  and  so  All. 


SEPTEMBER. 


The  Cameo. 

AMEO  !  that  art  one  single  solid  mass, 
Yet  in  so  many  layers  of  varied   hue, 
A  type   of  man  thou   showest   me  :    in    the 

green 

The  child  !  then  in  the  rosy-red  the  youth  ; 
And  in  the  heavenly  blue  here  the  old  man  ! 
Each  beautiful,  each  kept  in  its  own  sphere, 
Each  bearing  true  similitude  to  each : 
The  old  man  still  retaining  the  child's  look, 
The  child,  the  youth  already  prophesying 
That  of  the  old  man  ;  as  if  gradually 
Waked  up  to  separate  being  from  one  sleep  ; 
As  the  tall  corn-stalk  grows  from  out  itself,  — 
And  in  the  very  blade  I  see  the  ear  ! 
Yet  more  artistic  still  than  thou  is  man, 
For  stone  and  work  of  art,  One  God  hath  made, 
And  still  more  beautifully  from  our  breast 
Form  after  form  he  summons  forth  to  light ! 
The  form  of  gladness  and  the  form  of  love, 
The  form  of  wisdom  and  the  form  of  death, 
And  all,  yes  all,  out  of  one  common  ground, 
As  lily,  aster,  violet,  and  rose, 
Blue,  red,  white,  yellow,  myriad-colored,  all 
Spring  up  together  from  the  same  dark  earth  ! 


288  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

n. 

The  Father  consoled  over  his  Child's  Coffin. 

Poor  father !  thou  hast  lost  thy  child,  and  now 

As  in  a  dream  thou  wanderest  to  and  fro, 

For  now  the  lusty,  loud,  and  lively  boy 

Lies  dead,  all  silent  in  his  coffin  there  ; 

Now  nothing  seems  to  thee  impossible  ! 

Not  even  that  yon  sun  should  fall  from  heaven, 

That  hill,  vale,  house,  should  disappear  from  thee, 

The  world  sink  into  ruins  burying  thee. 

One  sight  alone  fills  thy  astonished  eyes  : 

The  heavenly  apparition  of  the  still 

And  solemn  coffin,  the  festoons  and  wreaths, 

And  one  so  young  laid  dead  among  the  flowers, 

Illuminated  by  the  sun's  mute  glow ! 

Thou  smilest  through  thy  tears  to  hear  me  say : 

"  The  heavenly  apparition  of  the  coffin  —  "  ? 

That  broke  in  mutely  on  the  festal  day  ! 

Ah  !  not  enough  I  said,  not  rightly  spoke  ! 

The  apparition  !     Nay,  no  apparition  : 

A  wonder-work  of  Heaven  the  coffin  is,  — 

The  Deity  himself  this  coffin  made 

When  he  contrived  the  world,  and  life  and  man  ! 

The  joiner  only  carried  out  his  plan. 

The  earliest  grave  was  dug  by  God  himself, 

The  grave-diggers  their  lesson  learned  of  him, 

Else  were  the  grave  but  an  unmeaning  pit 

Do  thou  take  courage  then  and  lay  thy  hand 

Upon  these  flowers,  this  silent  coffin-lid,  — 

Thou  touchest  there  the  holy  soul  of  God ! 

And  if  the  coffin  is  a  work  of  God, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  289 

I  pray  thee,  I  conjure  thy  spirit  now, 

See  even  in  the  beautiful  dead  child 

God's  newest,  venerably  beauteous  work,  — 

This  very  dead  one  also  God  hath  made  ! 

For  without  God  not  even  a  leaf  could  fade, 

Who  could  have  power  to  kill,  save  God  alone  ! 

And  now  if  God's  own  proper  self  has  done  it, 

Ay,  't  is  the  very  living  God  himself 

Whose  august  greatness  even  in  death  appears, 

Then  weep  for  him  the  blessed,  holy  tears 

God's  apparition  forces  from  thine  eyes. 

The  mother  has  already  bid  her  child 

The  last  farewell, — lay  in  the  coffin  now 

The  rosy  wreaths,  and  cover  him  softly  up, 

Not  long  can  man  endure  the  vision  of  God, 

The  play  of  lightning  from  the   thunder-cloud. 

To  look  upon  the  mother  sorrow-worn, 

The  brothers  and  sisters  bleeding,  crushed,  and  dumb, 

The  pale  and  heavenly  visage  of  the  dead,  — 

Ah,  it  is  unendurable  !    Let  earth 

The  blessed,  hide  it !     Then  let  us  be  men  ! 

Set  over  against  God,  we  are  but  dreams. 


in. 

How  to  bear  little  Troubles. 

If  thou  canst  not  life's  trifles  understand 
And  string  them  with  good  sense  upon  a  chain 
That  bears  itself  with  ease,  as  in  the  air 
Like  to  a  chain  of  bees  what  time  they  swarm, 
Or  flight  of  cranes  upon  the  eastern  clouds, 
Or  a  full  wreath  of  flowers  upon  the  sea,  — 
13  6 


290  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

How  wilt  them  ever,  like  the  blind  old  man, 

Ill-regulated  one  !  thy  pile  of  sticks, 

Not  to  say  all  the  thousand  little  boughs, 

Bear  home  with  thee  from  the  great  woods  of  life  ! 

Thou  must  feel  things  rest  lightly  on  thy  heart, 

Lightly  as  on  the  pine  her  thousand  needles, 

Lightly  as  on  the  oak  his  heavy  limbs. 

Lightly  as  man  carries  his  own  two  arms, 

Or  rose-bush  bears  all  its  rose-population, — 

They  must  grow  up  out  of  thy  very  soul ! 

Then  will  great  Nature  bear  them,  as  her  stars, 

And  then,  like  thy  stars,  will  they  gladden  thee  ! 


IV. 

Recovery  from  past  Faults. 

After  each  fault  thou  canst  be  pure  again, 

Wilt  thou  but  feel  them  old,  and  feel  thyself 

Still  young  and  good  as  thou  still  art  to-day. 

Thou  art  the  fresh  force,  childlike  purity, 

Thou  art  thyself  the  very  rage  divine 

Which  with  such  heavenly  might  cast  out  of  thee 

That  which  was  done  and  now  is  done  away  ! 

However  deep  and  sore  seems  thy  remorse, 

So  deep,  though  modest,  is  no  less  thy  joy, 

To  feel  that  such  a  pure  will  lives  in  thee, 

And  such  a  strength,  that  thou,  too,  like  the  sun, 

At  every  hour  art  new  and  art  divine. 

Now  understand  the  word :   "  God  pardons  sin." 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

v. 

All  is  born  of  Thought. 

Thought  is  the  very  greatest  power  of  all. 

The  mind  of  man  bears  up  the  heaviest  load, 

Enormous,  gorgeous  structures,  —  built  of  clouds  ; 

Breath  is  to  man  all  that  he  feels,  endures. 

Praise  and  opinion  are  the  strongest  pillars 

Of  things,  of  men,  and  even  of  Gods  themselves. 

And  things  when  once  built  up,  are  not  torn  down, 

But  thought  down,  laughed  down,  and  so  swept  away  ! 

What  thou  no  more  believest  is  no  more. 

Thought  is  the  very  greatest  power  of  all, 

And  so  not  meaningless,  but  full  of  sense 

Was  the  old  word:   The  world  is  but— a  thought. 

VI. 

Humanity  bears  its  Lot  with  Divine  Willingness. 

Never  believe  men  to  be  so  befooled 
As  if  they  dragged  along  their  painful  road 
Themselves,  and  with  them  many  a  needless  thing, 
Needed  no  more,  by  tyrannous  custom's  will, 
Because  a  strong  one  a  light  luggage  bears. 
To  think  well  of  mankind  is  worth  a  word,  — 
Search  intimately  then  and  thou  wilt  find  : 
Naught  in  the  world  endures  or  can  endure, 
Not  one  day  more,  which  man  would  not  have  be. 
What,  then,  thou  seest  in  the  human  race, 
However  oddly  strange  it  seems  to  thee, 
Yet  hangs  together  by  a  vein,  a  hair, 


291 


292  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

With  Nature  and  with  man,  the  common  heart 

Of  man,  its  hopes  and  its  remembrances, 

—  And  as  there  are  whims,  —  say,  too,  with  its  whims! 

But  then  this  hair,  albeit  invisible, 

While  man  yet  chooses,  is  so  utterly 

Indissoluble  that  whole  great  temples  hang, 

Robes,  mitres,  crosses,  golden  coronets, 

Hang  by  it :    all  the  world  of  man,  in  short, 

Hangs  by  a  single  hair  !     Yet  by  a  hair. 


VII. 

Marriages  made  in  Heaven. 

Call  thou  no  error  trivial ;   the  clear  look 

Through  life  and  nature  is  a  gladsome  thing  ! 

—  And  thinkst  thou  now,  as  youth,  to  choose  thy  bride, 

The  holy  shape  on  earth  to  match  thine  own, 

Out  from  the  midst  of  all  brave,  beauteous  maids 

At  pleasure  ?     Lo,  restricted  choice  is  none  ! 

Though  hosts  of  women  have  already  been, 

Though  hosts  of  women  yet  shall  be  on  earth, 

In  these  thy  days  there  only  live  with  thee 

A  certain  number,  sent  into  the  world, 

One  blooming  group  of  the  long  flowerage  ! 

Thou  canst  not  pluck  a  fruit  from  off  the  tree 

Save  that  which  bloomed  and  ripened  there  this  year  ; 

Thou  canst  not  pluck  thyself  a  rose,  but  that       . 

To  which  in  turn  its  time  had  come  to  blow  ; 

There  's  not  one  mother  that  can  choose  her  child, 

Whether  a  boy  or  girl :    only  a  God 

Lays  on  her  bosom  his  child  as  her  own, 

As  if  he  had  taken  her  to  be  his  wife, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  293 

And  seeing  the  divine  thing  in  her  arms, 

She  seizes  it  with  eagerness  divine,  — 

Such  bliss,  —  being  a  woman, — has  she  earned! 

So  hast  thou  only  seized  thy  lovely  bride  ! 

Such  wife  hast  thou  deserved, — thou  art  a  man! 

Only  the  chosen-  one  was  pressed  on  thee 

By  thousand  spirits  :   the  primeval  love 

And  beauty,  by  the  master  of  all  artists, 

Whose  every  work  turns  out  a  master-piece, 

Who  crowds  into  its  head,  heart,  body,  soul, 

The  holy  fulness,  —  all  that  they  can  hold: 

Strength,  love  and  beauty,  goodness,  blessedness ! 

Thus  art  thou  not  deluded,  only  blessed, 

For  thou  hast  God's  beloved,  —  and  thine  own! 


VIII. 
Honor  Woman,  the  Wife  and  the  Mother. 

In  earth's  old  temple  shines  to-day  still  fresh 

In  lovely,  legible  and  touching  lines, 

Gracefully  wove  with  children's  hair,  the  word  : 

"  Woman  is  good,  she  is  a  wife,  a  child, 

The  daughter,  ay,  the  metamorphosis, 

Of  Nature,  woman's  mighty  prototype  ! 

Of  that  great  holy  mother  of  us  all, 

In  human  form,  the  form  resembling  thine, 

Who  while  thou  liv'st,  lives  out  her  time  with  thee." 

And  even  a  blind  man  would  say  this  who  once 

Sat  as  a  child  upon  a  mother's  lap. 

But  thou  must  —  honor  her,  as  such  a  daughter 

Of  such  a  mother  !    must  believe  in  her, 

That  she  with  perishable  human  hand 


294 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Will  bless  thee  and  can  bless  thee,  like  her  mother, 

Who  ever  faithful,  friendly,  bountiful, 

Stands,  aye,  a  visible  helper  at  her  side  ; 

Love  her  thou  must ;    then  only  will  she  feel 

Assured  that  she  can  bless  thee  too.     For  only 

The  lover  is  it  possible  to  bless, 

Love  only  makes  man  capable  of  bliss, 

Only  the  lover  does  a  woman  bless, 

To  see  him  crowned  with  self-earned  happiness. 

And  if  thou  to  thy  wife  dost  show  thyself 

In  man's  true  worth,  wisdom  and  dignity, 

Then  wilt  thou  waken  in  her  tender  breast 

All  the  good  heavenly  spirits,  them  alone  ! 

Where  blooms  the  spring,  no  bitter  winter  frowns, 

And  where  love  lives,  there  can  no  hate  draw  nigh. 

But  wheresoe'er  thou  see'st  a  woman  vexed 

By  spirits  that  even  in  her  bosom  slept, — 

There  hast  thou  wickedly  aroused  them,  man, 

By  doubts,  by  disrespect ;   there  hast  thou  not 

Loved  her,  hast  not  known  how  to  honor  her  ! 

Whoso  cannot  love  woman  in  the  wife, 

Can  never  love,  nor  yet  respect  a  wife, 

Although  to  be  respected  is  her  life. 

Beauty  is  woman's  robing,  it  is  not 

Her  being ;    that  is  to  be  wife  and  mother, 

Pledge  of  existence,  fount  of  endless  youth, 

Nature,  —  the  careful  and  the  motherly, 

In  beauteous,  primal  presence  clasping  thee 

And  asking  thee  to  clasp  her  to  thy  heart.  — 

His  own  faults  only  man  does  penance  for, 

In  house  and  heart  and  in  tlie  world  of  men, 

Even  with  Nature,  the  great  stepmother ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

IX. 

Be  Reasonable  with  the  Unreasonable. 

With  you  't  is  easy  dealing,  men  of  sense  ; 
Fools  you  both  bear,  and  bear  along  with  you. 
But  human  reason  only  he  can  claim, 
Who  knows  to  deal  with  the  irrational 
Right  humanly,  with  Nature's  gentleness, 
With  peace  and  profit  to  himself  and  them  ! 
And  canst  thou  not  do  that,  do  they  annoy  thee, 
Then  blame  thyself  alone  ;    thou  art  no  man, 
Thou  art  unreason !     That  deserves  to  suffer ! 
Be  this  a  sign  to  thee,  that  thou  hast  gained 
Reason,  —  God's  blessedness,  —  ay,  God  himself, — 
When  not  the  world  afflicts  thee,  nor  thyself, 
When  in  thyself  and  all  things  thou  hast  joy ! 

X. 

Man's  Work  its  own  Reward. 

"  Thou  say'st  so  much  of  duties,  no,  not  duties,  — 

Of  works  which,  as  pure  act,  man  must  fulfil, 

Yet  sayest  nothing  of  reward  therefor ! 

Great  as  they  are,  hard  their  accomplishment!" 

—  A  handsome  life  is  the  good  man's  reward ; 

In  manhood  manly  action  finds  its  goal. 

For  this  is  the  wise  ordinance  of  Nature, 

That  each  shall  find  his  cloudless  happiness 

In  being  wholly  that  she  ma'de  him  for ; 

For  each  existence  is  the  highest  duty. 

And  as  each  being  is  a  bounded  thing, 


295 


296  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  made  a  being  only  by  its  bounds, 

So  in  the  human  circle  thou  fulfil'st 

Not  every  task  to  holy  Nature  set, 

But  only  human  tasks,  enjoyest  only 

A  human  bliss,  and  that  is  all  to  men. 

Thus  is  the  task  its  own  reward  and  thanks! 

For  whoso,  penetrated  by  his  life, 

Strives  with  live  truth  to  do  the  thing  he  is, 

He  has  no  time  to  ask  about  reward; 

He  could  not  even  understand  the  thing, 

'T  would  be  to  him  a  new  existence.     Such 

Reward  receives  he  for  continuous  being, 

So  God  rewards  him  for  eternal  love. 

And  thus  all  brings, — begets  its  own  reward! 

The  Universe,  and  every  little  life. 


XI. 
The  Grave,  seen  in  Divine  Light. 

A  watchful  eye  to  things  above,  below  ; 

Oft  glancing  backward,  forward,  either  side  ; 

A  fine,  quick  ear,  turned  inward,  —  man,  so  live ! 

An  invalid,  well-tended,  lives  much  longer 

Than  thousands  of  uncared-for  well  ones,  who 

This  morning  made  a  mis-step  suddenly, 

And  who,  beneath  his  windows  now  at  night 

Are  swept  away  into,  —  the  common  rut 

Of  erring  travellers,  —  the  nameless  pit ! 

For  "  Grave  "  I  call  an  enviable  name, 

Known  in  its  heavenly  significance 

To  few,  as  yet,  among  the  human  race, 

Who  still  must  needlessly  bewail  the  grave, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

Till  one  day  tender  tears  fall  for  the  dead ; 
To  earn  the  grave,  —  that  is  the  highest  honor 
Of  man.     None  rises  higher.     No,   not  one,  — 
Even  if  a  God  would  honor  this  our  earth,  — 
So  is  it  honored  by  pure  ashes  now ! 
The  Grave  's  a  mark  which,  like  the  human  heart, 
At  the  right  hour,  and  only  then,  is  hit, 
When  ends  all  human  time,  and  when  all  suns, 
All  earthly  bliss,  have  vanished  from  its  grasp. 


XII. 

The  Beaiity  of  Moderation. 

Measure  and  Order  work  so  wholesomely, 

That  even  the  bad,  under  their  leadership, 

Still  holds  out  long,  by  shrewd  self-management 

Distributing  his  pleasures,  intermitting 

His  faults,  and  dreaming  :    what  he  does  is  right. 

The  very  form  of  virtue,  how  divine ! 

Of  reason's  shadow  how  divine  the  power, 

It  stamps  even  half-men,  half-blessed  ones ! 


XIII. 

Sleep  and  Old  Age. 

Wherefore  is  sleep,  thou  askest,  holy  sleep, 
Appointed  to  the  living?     Dead  men  sleep  not, 
They  rest  not.  —  Sleep,  the  holy,  sayest  thou?  — 
The  isolating,  self-existing  sleep  ! 
Wherefore  is  man  ?     The  isolated  one, 
The  holy, — why  the  earthly  night  of  man, 
13* 


297 


298  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Night,  full  of  stars,  of  dew,  and  fresh  young  force,  — 

The  flowers  sleep  also,  buds  and  blossoms  sleep. 

And  ask'st  thou  not :    why  also  is  old  age, 

The  holy,  cloistered,  far  secluded  state, 

Half  sleep  of  sense,  and  winter  time  complete 

Of  worn-out  feelings !     Lo,  the  old  man  there 

Is  like  a  slumberer  ;    a  slumberer 

Is  like  a  bucket  full  of  precious  wine, 

Which  one  sets  by  in  a  cool,  quiet  place, 

Hedged  round  with  ice,  —  to  freeze.     And  whatsoe'er 

Man  has  within,  poured  into  him  by  life, 

The  evil  part  all  freezes  out  to  ice, 

All  vulgar,  common,  bitter,  foreign  stuff, — 

And  in  the  centre  is  condensed  the  virtue 

Of  days,  —  of  life,  perchance  a  small  amount : 

A  beaker  full,  yet  fiery,  pure  and  mild. 

The  early  waking  one  that  beaker  drinks, 

With  that  the  aging  man  refreshes  him, 

The  new-born  man  of  that  same  beaker  drinks, 

That  beaker  shall  one  day  the  death-judge  quaff, — 

The  pure,  primeval  self  of  man  and  all. 


XIV. 
Learn  Calmness  of  Nature. 

Repose  and  dignity  give  being  grace ! 

Short  is  man's  life  in  the  comparison 

With  nature's  life,  the  morning  star's,  the  earth's, 

Ay,  even  the  raven's  and  the  olive-tree's. 

Still  shorter  than  the  life  of  man  is  that 

The  faithful  dog  and  faithful  swallow  spend, 

The  silkworm's  life,  the  spider's,  and  the  bee's, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  299 

And  each  one's  frame  suffices  for  its  life 

Even  to  the  breath ;   and  each  has  lived  enough, 

When  it  has  wholly  filled  its  being  out. 

Who  would  be  man  needs  only  a  man's  life  ; 

Then  hurry  not  away  indecently 

The  slightest  work,  the  shortest  winter  day  ! 

Take  time  to  greet  the  passer  in  thy  walks, 

To  say  a  friendly  word  to  coming  guests, 

To  spread  thyself  serenely  through  the  hours,  — 

Repose  and  dignity  lend  grace  to  life. 

Let  joy  prolong  itself  as  on  the  air 

A  flute-tone;   wander  slowly  through  the  garden 

Of  spring ;    beholding,  listening  everything, 

The  nightingale,  as  an  imploring  child  ; 

Time  for  his  pater-noster  give  the  beggar, 

And  give  thyself  time  for  thy  piteous  word  ; 

Yea,  grant,  that  it  may  vindicate  itself, 

Sorrow  itself  its  natural  human  course  : 

Smother  not  grief,  nor  give  it  too  much  room. 

So  only  is  the  very  poorest  rich, 

In  that  he  spreads  out  so  composedly 

And  cheerfully  his  coarse  white  tablecloth 

Takes  time  for  his  dry  bread  and  leaves  no  less 

Each  thirsty  child  time  for  the  water-jug. 

So  the  last  lingering  lark  sings  her  last  song 

The  last  fair  autumn  day,  composedly 

And  rapturously  as  she  sang  her  first, 

Then  sinks  with  graceful  calmness  to  the  earth. 

The  cranes  that  early  through  the  purple  sky 

Sail  hence  to  warmer  suns,  in  circling  dance 

High  in  the  azure  heaven,  away  they  wheel, 

Like  happy  guests  bound  homeward  from  the  feast; 

The  wild  geese  on  their  journey  pause  awhile 


3oo  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

To  bathe  themselves  delighted  in  the  lake. 

Note  kindly,  then,  how  Nature  manages, 

So  that,  by  having  all  contented  guests, 

She  in  her  house  may  be  herself  content ! 

Scarcely  she  lures  the  violet  by  warm  gales, 

Yet,  if  it  will  come,  well,  so  let  it  be  ! 

She  interrupts  by  coolness  of  spring  nights 

The  bloom-days  of  the  eager  hyacinth, 

She  dashes  not  the  bells  from  off  the  stalk, 

When  they  dry  up  and  all  their  beauty  's  gone  ! 

She  tears  not  suddenly  and  rudely  off 

The  sunny  buttercup's  empty  golden  head  : 

Nor  turns  the  swallow  in  the  night  to  clay; 

She  lets  her  with  the  swallow  long  rejoice 

In  the  half-builded  nest,  and  lets  the  young 

Long  with  the  parent  swallow  nightly  sit. 

She  leaves  the  child  a  space  of  years  to  play 

Many  times  over  every  childish  game ; 

She  lets  the  old  man  still  enjoy  his  ease, 

When  long  his  occupation  has  been  gone  ; 

She  hurls  not  the  first  rain-clouds  on  the  year, 

Nor  drives  the  last,  like  servants  old  and  worn, 

Out  of  the  year ;  gives  time  for  every  drop 

To  fall,  and  in  its  falling,  time  to  grow, 

And  down  below,  exhaling,  to  refresh, 

In  diamond-death :    to  flash  all-colored  rays ! 

And  when  the  sun  already  has  gone  down, 

She  lets  the  rainbow  for  the  children  still 

Long  linger,  the  old  columns,  too,  themselves 

Of  holier  fanes  her  earlier  children  built 

She  lets  in  sad  and  tender  silence  stand 

When  they  have  long  been  gone  away  from  earth. 

So  lives  she  in  destruction,  even  in  death, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  301 

Serenely.     Thou,  from  Nature  learn  thy  life, 
The  calm  she  gives  to  all  things  that  have  worth, 
And  all  has  worth  in  her  eyes,  even  thou ! 
Then  spread  out  generously  thy  human  life! 
Calmness  and  dignity  give  being  grace. 


xv. 
Man,  the  Immortal,  alone  can  die. 

To  be  immortal  and  to  die,  —  that  is 

The  life  of  all,  of  man,  of  everything 

That  has  a  living  soul  and  teems  with  force. 

The  drop  of  rain  dies  also,  in  the  sea  : 

The  spark  is  in  the  rain-drop  quenched  and  dies  ; 

The  fagot  dies  in  the  fire,  and  the  rose 

Dies  in  the  ether;   they  are  all  transformed, 

All  in  the  universal  feeling  merge, 

In  the  great  sea  of  forces  ;   what  they  were, 

Joins  the  great  chain  of  being  :    what  they  will  be, 

Unharmed  themselves  by  such  transfigurement, 

Abiding  in  divine,  eternal  life. 

I  know  one  being  only  who  can  die  : 

'T  is  man !     Earth's  finest  work,  the  one  of  all 

Fitted  to  be  her  very  heart  and  soul, 

To  feel  what  he  is,  what  the  universe, 

What  life :    to  be  immortal  and  to  die  ; 

And  therefore  take  thou  note  :    not  all  can  die  ; 

Nor  die  alike  ;    but  those  who  are  alike  ; 

The  more  experienced,  the  more  wise  one  was, 

The  better,  and  the  richlier  endowed 

With  love  and  beauty,  to  appreciate  life, 

To  hold  his  loves  uniquely  high  and  dear,  — 


302  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  more  divinely  has  he  power  to  die ! 

As  great  as  is  the  difference  of  life, 

So  great,  too,  is  the  difference  of  death,  — 

Of  death,  the  great  heart-searcher  and  world-judge, 

Who  every  day  sends  million  angels  out, 

With  beakers  full  of  holy  joy,  to  float 

Round  this  old  earth,  that  sun,  and  round  the  suns 

Of  star-worlds,  to  refresh  each  dying  one, 

And  celebrates  among  his  own  that  feast, 

The  feast  of  ripening  and  the  harvest  home, 

At  which,  as  on  the  holy  altar,  in 

The  Holiest  place  of  the  still  universe, 

Suns  blaze  for  lamps,  and  ether  sparkling  glows  ! 

The  highest  hour  of  all  things  is  their  end  ; 

Lovely  is  life,  lovely  the  road,  —  the  bloom  ; 

But  the  completed  root,  —  that  is  the  flower, 

When  it  falls  off  and  richly  strews  the  seed. 


XVI. 

Death,  Man's  Angel- Friend. 

Only  one  wish  were  mine,  but  one  desire, 
The  highest  and  the  holiest  wish  of  man, 
Which  each  one  wears  his  life  out  to  fulfil, 
Which  earth  and  heaven  are  glowing  to  secure  ! 
O  that  the  whole  of  human  kind  might  die, 
O  might  one  single  man  succeed  to  die  ! 
So  many  generations,  like  the  heads 
Of  poppies  full  of  countless  seeds,  have  come, 
Have  gone,  —  gone  to  destruction,  every  one  ! 
Scarce  one,  one  man  up  to  this  day  has  died, 
Scarce  of  the  holiest  one  has  even  guessed 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  303 

What  dying  is  and  death.     All,  all  of  them, 

In  frightful  wars,  or  in  a  frightful  peace, 

In  battle-din  of  life  were  snatched  away, 

Swept  ignominiously  into  the  pit. 

And  still  the  murder-peal  and  howl  of  bells 

From  dawn  till  night  circles  the  broad  round  earth. 

O  that  all  bells  were  charmed  to  dumbness,  bells 

Of  snow-drops,  with  their  tongues  grown  stiff  and  mute ! 

For  in  the  wail  and  woe  I  wellnigh  -sink  ; 

No  !     I  could  wish  all  bells  an  angel  voice, 

To  cry  aloud  into  the  ears  of  men, 

From  dawn  to  dark  all  over  earth's  wide  round  : 

O  shame,  shame,  shame,  ye  mortals,  know  ye  not 

The  holy  name  of  "  mortals,"  —  what  it  means  ! 

He  only  who  has  truly  lived  can  die  ! 

Nothing  is  fairer,  perfecter  than  death, 

More  heavenly,  sweeter  to  the  universe 

Than  is  a  noble  death  for  noble  men ! 

And  once,  one  day,  will  death  and  dying  mean : 

That  one  has  truly  lived  a  human  life, 

Not  merely  taught,  imagined  and  seen  toil,  — 

And  none  can  truly  live  a  human  life, 

Till  all  can  die  with  manly  dignity 

After  a  beauteous  sweet  consummate  life. 

Discern,  then,  that  the  goal  of  death  —  is  life  ! 

And  therefore  is  it,  death  is  laid  on   you 

As  the  last,  greatest,  heaviest,  and  withal 

Unspeakably  rich  treasure  of  mankind, — 

And  not  as  the  last  torment,  the  last  fiend. 


304  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


XVII. 
Keep  along  with  God"1*  great  Flock. 

Go  always  with  the  one  great  flock,  that,  like 

A  holy  water-stream  o'erflows  the  lands, 

Through  the  still  night  forever  pressing  on; 

Which  has  no  shepherd,  for  its  multitude 

Is  all  too  great  to  have  one  here  below ; 

Which  needs  no  shepherd,  since  on  every  side 

For  it  on  earth  here,  cloud-fed  pasture  blooms, 

For  it  above  there,  —  heaven  shines  brightly  down  ! 

Go  not  ahead !   useless  it  were  for  thee 

That  thou  alone  shouldst  have  enough  of  all 

While   the  flock  starved  or  there  were  one  in  want; 

That  were  to  thee  the  very  greatest  shame! 

What  all  have,  that  alone  can  gladden  thee. 

Lag  not  behind !  canst  thou  in  earnest  think 

That  all  things  glorious  are  not  now  in  all 

Growing  in  rich  abundance  for  all  time  ? 

Who  counts  himself  as  wiser,  —  or,  (mad  thought) 

As  better  than  the  very  least  of  all, — 

Better  in  soul  and  total  nature  than, 

Before  or  since  his  deed,  the  murderer,  — 

Such  has  not  known  the  priceless  inborn  wealth 

Which  each  bears  with  him  —  as  himself —  through  life. 

Go  not  aside  !  proud  and  oppressed  with  shame, 

As  the  rich  man  beside  the  beggar  walks, 

Lest  thou  shouldst  fall  into  the  ditch,  or  wolves 

Tear  thee,  or  gnash  their  teeth  at  thee.     "  Beware  !  " 

"  Stand  on  thy  guard  !  "  that  is  the  single  word 

Of  the  whole  flock.     Let  each  one  practise  it, 

Then  the  whole  flock  is  well-defended,  safe, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  305 

Inviolably  holy  as  the  sea  ! 

And  if  one  meeting  thee  should  question  thee 

And  shake  his  head  and  say  :    a  wretched  flock ! 

Then  look  thou  straight  into  his  eye  and  give  him 

The  time  of  day  ;    and  as  the  day  may  be, 

Say,  "  Yes,  it  rains  to-day."     "  Last  night  the  wolves 

Howled  frightfully."     "  To-day  a  lamb  has  strayed, 

The  dogs  are  bad,  they  chase  this  way  and  that ! " 

"  To-day  a  mist  fell."     "  The  sun  stings  to-day." 

"  'T  is  drawing  water  there,  —  't  will  soon  be  spring  ! 

For  see  the  birds  already  come  in  flocks  ! " 

This  only.     If  he  still  waits,  —  smile  and  say: 

"  We  journey  safely  as  the  stars  in  heaven  ! 

Their  unseen  shepherd  is  our  shepherd  too  ! 

And  here  below  our  heaven  is  called  :  the  Earth." 


XVIII. 

The  City  of  the  Gods  is  in  Man's  Being. 

Magnificent !     "  The  city  of  the  Gods  " 

I  fain  would  see  !     It  actually  stands  ; 

But  mystical  and  secret  as  a  dream  ! 

For  lo !   the  head  of  every  little  child 

Reveals  a  palace,  one  divinely  built, 

Reveals  a  new,  original  world  just  made, 

Such  world  as  never  yet  was  seen  bv  man, 

Such  world  as  never  came  to  human  ears. 

The  child's  eye  feasts  upon  the  universe, 

And  whatsoever  charms  and  pleases  it 

It  draws  into  the  mystic  viewless  dome  ; 

Like  bees  the  thoughts  fly  out  from  it  for  sweets, 

And  heavy-laden  bring  their  treasures  home; 

They  gather  thoughts  themselves,  which  they  extract 


3o6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

From  stars  and  from  the  clouds  and  from  the  flowers, 

And  like  the  blue  sky,  broad  and  glistering 

Soon  their  own  heavenly  temple  rears  its  arch, 

And  its  own  shining  sun  it  hangs  therein, 

And  its  own  beaming  moon  ;    and  days  and  nights, 

Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  in  their  pomp, 

Move  round  therein  with  new,  peculiar  grace, 

Real,  and  nowhere  else  to  him  exist. 

A  goddess,  too,  the  master  takes  to  him 

And  sends  out  infant  gods  before  the  door! 

Of  them  each  little  childish  head  shines  forth 

A  new,  original,  and  glorious  palace, 

A  new  heaven,  lighted  with  its  proper  sun, 

Full  of  all  treasures,  all  delight  and  bliss  ! 

And  so  millions  of  houses  come  to  be 

Crowded  with  suns  and  moons  and  all  things  fair, 

So  a  whole  city  of  spirits  comes  to  be  ! 

Does  this  sound  like  a  fable !     But,  dear  soul, 

Not  greatly,  not  admiringly  enough 

Canst  thou  e'er  think  of  "  being,"  —  of  the  master 

Who  founded  this  full  city  of  the  gods ! 

What  were  sublimer,  rarer,  blesseder 

Than  all  men's  daily,  homely,  common  life  ! 

What  can  be  lovelier  than  to  be  a  man  ! 

What  holier  than  the  culture  and  the  love, 

That  open  to  dim  sense  its  heavenly  house ! 

XIX. 

The  Mountain  of  Woes  lifts  Man  to  Heaven. 

The  wind  snaps  off  thy  beauteous  blooming  rose,  — 
And  thou,  for  grief,  forgettest  all  the  buds  ; 
Then  comes  a  storm  and  fells  thy  cherry-tree,  — 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  307 

And  gone  is  all  thy  mourning  for  the  rose  ! 

Lo,  the  white  cloud  hurls  down  its  rattling  hail, 

Beats  down  and  crushes  all  thy  field  of  wheat,  — 

And  rose  and  cherry-tree  are  both  forgot, 

As  quickly  as  the  clouds  o'ershadow  thee  ! 

Lo,  from  the  cloud's  black  mantle  darts  a  flash, 

And  ere  thou  thinkest  of  the  thunder's  crash, 

Thy  house  already  smokes,  is  wrapped  in  flames. 

Now  quickly  is  the  wheat-field  in  its  turn 

Forgotten,  like  the  rose  and  cherry-tree, 

In  the  new  glow  of  the  new-startled  soul. 

The  mother  bears  forth  some  one  from  the  house, 

She  bears  out  some  one  dead  —  see  —  't  is  thy  boy 

Whom  that  same  flash  has  torn  from  her  and  thee  : 

Even  her  mute  lips,  alas,  they  tell  it  loud, 

The  paleness  of  the  boy,  his  stiffened  eye, 

As  in  the  gushing  rain  he  lies  before  thee, 

And  lo !  heaven's  water  drenches  all  his  curls, 

The  slightly  singed  and  blackened  golden  locks  ! 

Just  as  the  wheat-field  drove  out  of  thy  thoughts 

The  cherry-tree,  the  cherry-tree  the  rose  ; 

Naught  else  thou  seest  and  feelest  but  the  boy. 

Then  suddenly  a  flash  from  heaven  strikes  thee,  — 

The  heavens  are  opened  to  thee  suddenly, 

Thyself  art  dead,  —  and  standest  before  God, 

Thou  standest  before  God  in  holy  awe, 

And  in  the  vision  is  thy  beauteous  boy 

Forgotten  also  now,  —  and  the  whole  world  ! 

And  should  not  then  a  thought  on  God  have  power, 

O  living  man,  to  make  thee,  not  indeed 

Wholly  forget  earth's  woes,  but  tranquilly, 

Humanely,  and  divinely  to  discern 

How  woe  and  joy  both  lift  thee  up  to  Him  ? 


308  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Pride  of  Manhood. 

Whate'er  is  strewed  with  poison  and  with  gall, 

Choose  not  to  take,  —  that  utterly  refuse  ! 

And  better,  nobler  wilt  thou  find  thyself 

When  the  short  moment's  gloomy  mood  is  past. 

That  is  the  chasteness  which  beseems  a  man, 

The  chastity  of  thought,  of  sentiment. 

Hast  thou  not  longed  for  justness,  search  thyself : 

Hast  only  longed  for  it,  —  then  watch  and  wait, 

And  bide  thy  time  ;  the  mitigated  sense 

Mildly  and  humanly  will  bring  it  thee  ! 

Mildly  and  humanly  receive  thou  it ! 

And  were  it  office,  honors,  freedom,  love, 

Yea,  were  't  the  bliss  of  life,  ev'n  life  itself,  — 

And  if  a  god  could  thrust  thee  into  life, 

That  thou  shouldst  there  appear  indecently, 

Not  unbecoming  thee  it  were  to  turn 

Even  upon  him  with  a  resentful  look  ! 

The  chastity  of  thought,  of  sentiment, 

Guard  jealously  !     With  men  its  name  is  —  Pride  ! 

And  pride  of  manhood  graces  every  man. 


XXI. 

The  Cry  of  Humanity,  God's  Voice. 
[i  Samuel  xii.  6-17.] 

High  on  the  rainbow  stands  a  sprite  and  cries 
Aloud  with  cloudy  voice  ;  Give  ear,  O  men ! 
Ho,  all  men !     Hear  and  see  !     Behold,  it  rains  ! 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

And  if  you  hear,  you  laugh  the  fool  to  scorn  ; 
Because  he  tells  a  truth  you  know  yourselves. 
But  if  perchance  in  the  still  dusk  of  eve 
A  poor  man  says  with  timid,  tremulous  voice, 
Scarce  audible,  "  O  help,  —  I  am  a  man,"  — 
Laugh  not  at  him  !   for  thou  too  art  a  man, 
And  that  he  speaks  is  truth  for  thee  to  do  ; 
And  if  he  says  it  in  broad  day,  with  firm, 
Courageous  voice,  full  of  sweet  confidence, — 
And  if,  now,  all  men  say  the  same  to  thee  : 
"  Stand  by  us,  man  !  "  has  it  less  meaning  then  ? 
O  laugh  them  not  to  scorn !  they  all  are  men  ; 
And  day  and  night,  do  thou,  with  men  and  God, 
Truly  remember  them  with  hand  and  mouth, 
With  thought  and  deed,  ay,  dreaming  and  asleep  ; 
For  what  the  soul  takes  with  it  into  sleep, 
That  it  holds  dear!     That  shall  abide  with  it. 


XXII. 
A  manly  Life  Man's  main  Business. 

Man's  main  work  is  existence  in  the  whole, 
And  all  details  therein  are  mere  by-work ; 
The  best  and  fairest  are,  though  they  should  last 
Half  his  life  long.     In  the  great  whole  of  life 
God  has  assigned  to  man  the  holiest  task, 
To  which  no  deed,  no  work  can  e'er  come  up. 
For  see  !    how  grand,  immense  a  thing  it  is 
To  have  been  born  a  man  !  a  weighty  office, 
To  weep  through  all  the  tears  of  human  woe, 
To  glow  through  all  the  thrills  of  human  joy, 
An  inexpressible  office  too,  to  die. 


309 


3 1  o  THE  LA  YMAN'S  BRE  VI A R  Y. 

It  takes  the  whole  of  life  to  make  one  deed, 

As  it  was  one  thought  in  the  master's  mind. 

The  weaver  in  his  weaving  does  mere  —  by-work  ; 

The  fisher  in  his  fishing  merely  by-work, 

The  doctor  in  his  cures  ;  even  to  the  father 

Is  rearing  children  by-work  ;   to  the  mother 

Bearing  of  children  is,  and  to  the  king 

His  kingdom,  it  is  only  by-work  ;  though, 

As  each  man's  is  to  him,  a  serious  task. 

Then  what,  with  narrow  and  mistaking  mind, 

Thou  hast  been  used  to  call  thy  main-work,  that 

Call  thou  henceforward  by-work.     And  the  by-work 

Henceforth  call   main- work,  —  labor,  faithful  toil, 

True  loving,  seeking  wisdom,  cheerfulness. 

So  are  there  few  all  unsuccessful  men, 

So  are  there  very  few  unhappy  ones, 

And  even  these  only  in  small  degree  ! 

With  such  a  firm  and  golden  truth  has  God 

Divided  unto  all  their  proper  goods, 

As  if  He  had  chained  them  to  the  golden  well ! 

Lamed  in  his  wing,  the  stork  no  more  indeed 

Migrates,  nor  comes  back  home,  yet  evermore 

Dwells  in  his  element,  there  builds  his  nest, 

And  has  his  wife  and  children  with  him  too  ; 

The  mussel,  though  diseased,  still  forms  the  pearl ; 

The  bear,  though  blind,  still  finds  his  honeycomb, 

And  man  can  never  wholly,  finally 

Stray  from  the  circle  of  humanity, 

Can  never  be  so  utterly  unmanned 

As  utterly  to  lose  the  fruit  of  life  ; 

And  none  can  e'er  achieve  such  loftiness 

As  to  be  worth  more  than  a  simple  child,  — 

The  pure  and  universal  lot  of  man  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  311 

XXIII. 

Creation  never  finished. 

A  mighty  word  sounds  through  the  heavenly  halls, 

And  weeks  and  days,  and  sun  and  moon  and  earth, 

They  all  speak  out  the  word  of  gladdening  life  : 

"  The  worth  is  in  the  work,  not  what  is  wrought : 

What 's  doing,  that  has  life  !    What 's  done  is  dead  !  " 

So  man  believes  :    Creation  is  not  done, 

Else  were  it  dead.     It  lives  and  works  and  lasts  ; 

Creation  then  is  not ;  but  a  creating, 

A  ceaseless  working  without  finishing, 

Is  all  we  see  ;  the  world  is  one  great  workshop, 

Wherein  all  hammers  are  alive,  all  tongs, 

The  bellows,  fire,  water,  anvils,  all, 

And  with  the  One  Great  Master  live  and  work 

The  little  artists ;  but  their  works  they  make 

Complete,  and  when  their  work  is  done  they  die  ; 

They  turn  to  dust.  —  they  and  the  world,  forgot. 

But  He  —  the  mighty  master  —  never  ends, 

And  nothing  that  He  does  is  ever  done  ; 

Millions  of  years  He  's  been  at  work,  and  lo  ! 

He  has  not  finished  yet  a  single  flower, 

No  violet,  not  a  rose,  nor  clover-leaf, 

No  palm,  nor  ivy  creeping  on  the  ground  ! 

Nor  moon,  nor  blade  of  grass,  nor  lightning-bug  ! 

Year  after  year,  He  busily  works  on, 

He  busily  works  on  in  making  man ; 

And  when  He  has  divinely  wrought  Himself, 

Into  his  works,  inspired  them  with  his  soul, 

Meekly  transformed  Himself  into  the  saints 

So  as  to  be  all,  and  know  all  Himself, 


3I2 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


His  works  all  sweetly  help  Him  to  create  ; 

Each  violet  helps  Him  make  a  violet, 

Each  olive-tree  helps  make  an  olive-tree, 

The  jilly-flower  helps  make  the  jilly-flower, 

Man  likewise  lends  his  aid  in  making  man, 

Each  creature  helps  its  own  development, 

The  mussel  and  the  trees  —  ay,  and  the  sea  ! 

For  even  the  very  workshop  helps  complete 

The  workshop,  make  it  new,  and  keep  it  clean, 

As  if  't  were  opened  the  first  time  this  morn. 

So  each  helps  faithfully  create  the  other  ! 

The  sea  helps  form  the  clouds  ;  the  wind,  the  rain  ; 

The  rain,  the  grass  ;  the  grass,  the  lamb  ;  and  so 

He  never  ends,  Himself;  the  laboratory 

Itself  is  never  done ;  the  aster  fair, 

The  evening-red,  nor  evening  of  the  year, 

The  grape  !  nor  man,  nor  yet  the  joy  of  man ; 

And  in  the  endless  evolutions,  He 

Evolves  Himself,  too,  everlastingly, 

And  calmly,  thoughtfully  he  says  Himself: 

"  The  worth  is  in  the  work,  not  the  thing  wrought ; 

What  's  doing,  is  alive  ;  what 's  done,  is  dead.  — 

This  mighty  word  rings  through  the  halls  of  heaven." 


XXIV. 
The  Child's  World  and  the  Man's. 

Sweetly  the  child  takes  the  whole  world  as  his, 

One  whole;  and  indistinguishably  great 

All  rests  with  him  in  chaos  of  still  love  : 

The  sun  in  heaven,  his  parents  and  the  flowers  ; 

And  magically,  though  in  miniature, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  313 

He  seems  a  very  god  in  the  blest  power 

Of  feeling  the  whole  universe  as  one ; 

And  everything  he  has,  he  calls  it :    thine, 

Because  his  mother  told  him :    "  That  is  thine  !  " 

The  boy  thinks :    He  alone  is  all  the  world  ; 

And  gambolling,  as  in  a  mother's  lap, 

He  drinks  the  world's  blood  through  a  thousand  veins 

To  ripen  in  the  kingdom  of  the  sun. 

The  youth  mysteriously  breaks  in  twain, 

When  the  fair  maiden  stands  before  his  eyes  ; 

He  feels  what  he,  as  man,  as  human,  needs ; 

The  woman  —  and  exulting  leads  her  home. 

And  in  the  house,  the  children  prattling  round, 

The  double  image  by  degrees  fades  out  — 

He  becomes  she  —  she  becomes  he  —  and  now 

Husband  and  wife  together  make  one  man. 

And  wondrously,  yet  naturally,  touched, 

Man  feels  himself  once  more  now  all  alone, 

Yet  he  is  whole  !     That  gives  him  lofty  calm, 

For  all  the  thousands  are  no  more  than  he  ! 

Only  in  number.     And  he  stands  on  earth 

As  host  in  a  great  house  alive  with  joy, 

And  as  he  looks  around  he  boldly  counts 

As  guests  the  very  clouds  !  the  sun  !   the   stars  ! 

His  children  —  trees  and  flowers  —  and  even  his  dog! 

For  he,  too,  is  a  father,  is  a  world, 

He  and  his  wife  !   and  now,  as  with  the  child, 

So  with  these  two,  all  rests  in  orderly 

In  clear,  pure  love,  like  offspring  of  their  own  ! 

In  open,  visible  presence,  like  the  sun. 


3T4  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXV. 

How  many  Elements  are  there  ? 

How  many  elements  are  there  ?  —  "  Hundreds  !  "  —  Nay  ! 

Too  few  !     Are  there  not  spirit-elements  ? 

Perhaps  none  else,  and  nothing  said  of  them  ! 

Forms,  types,  masks  elemental,  are  there  not  ? 

Wilt  thou  not  reckon  man  among  them  too  ? 

The  snail  ?     Yes,  and  her  house  !   and  every  tile 

Upon  her  little  house  !     The  elephant 

Is  as  indissoluble  —  as  the  rose, 

And  long,  yet  long  time  will  the  humming-bird, 

The  bee,  and  the  bee's  honey,  and  the  sun 

And  the  fly's  egg  defy  analysis, 

Till  one  day  there  will  be  no  element, 

But  only  elements  ;   numbers,  but  no  number. 

The  poppy-head  consists  of — million  grains, 

And  if  this  prove  a  falsehood  —  man  is  lost! 

Man,  —  who  himself  believes  that  he  is  man. 

XXVI. 

The  Child's  bleeding  Finger. 

The  boy  has  gashed  his  finger  with  a  knife, 

And,  stained  with  blood,  runs  to  his  father  now: 

"  Ah  !  —  Father  !  —  is  there  blood,  then,  in  my  body  ? 

And  am  I,  —  only  so,  how  shall  I  say, 

Do  I  not  live,  —  I  know  not  what  to  say, — 

O  father!   tell  it  to  thy  darling  child: 

For  ah,  I  faint  with  fear,  —  the  blood  runs  out, 

Must  I  now  die?     Ah,  is  death  coming  now?" 

And  smiling,  says  the  father  to  the  boy : 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY,  315 

Thou  young  "old  head,"  and  must  I  tell  it  thee, — 
Thou  liv'st  not  "only  so"  as  nothing,  canst  not 
Live  without  hand  and  body,  world  and  blood : 
Thou  liv'st  in  blood!   yet  pure  and  all  unharmed 
By  this  red  juice  wrung  from  the  elements ! 
Thou  hast  been  told  of  God,  how  He  himself, 
Even  He,  lives  in  this  body  of  the  world, 
As  a  clear  spirit,  uttering  words  of  love 
Loud  to  His  children,  as  I  do  to  thee  ; 
He  lives  in  blood,  so  pure,  so  all  untouched 
By  this  red  juice  wrung  from  the  elements  ! 
And  as  it  trickles  down 'so  from  thy  hand, — 
Think  thou  upon  it  !     Think  upon  thy  life, 
Think  then  upon  the  world,  think  upon  God, 
Who  lives  in  thee,  —  in  thee  as  in  His  blood! 
And  thou  too  livest  in  His  heart,  dear  boy  ! 
I  pray  thee,  honor  now  the  wiped-off  blood, 
Go,  and  beneath  thy  rose-bush  bury  it ; 
It  is  God's  body,  and  the  body  of  love, 
And  roses  thou  shalt  see  bloom  up  from  it ! 


XXVII. 
Old  Things  made  new. 

Each  man  must  brave  the  wilderness  of  life, 
Long  fasting,  shyly  tasting  as  in  dream 
The  bread  of  men,  and  the  good  gifts  of  earth, 
Loosing  his  own  heart,  the  great  inner  wings, 
Like  the  young  eagle  in  a  still  amaze  ; 
Each  one  must  climb  the  temple's  pinnacle, 
The  kingdoms  and  the  glories  of  the  world 
To  prove,  and  bring  his  spirit  back  unstained ; 


3i6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Even  to  the  dwellings  of  the  dead  must  thou 

Go  down  alive  and  mount  to  heaven  again. 

When  thou  hast  oft  and  sorely  been  in  doubt, 

Ay,  in  despair,  when  thou  hast  left  the  world 

To  the  world's  self,  and  to  thyself  art  left, 

What  is  and  what  takes  place  canst  calmly  see, 

Having  resigned  thyself  to  death  and  life,  — 

As  if  thy  dear  heart  had  died  out  of  thee, 

And  with  pale  cheek  and  silent,  silent  step, 

Old  spring  returns  to  thy  indifferent  eyes, 

Risen  anew  from  out  his  earthly  grave,  — 

Then,  not  till  then  thou  art!     The   universe 

Then  wakes  for  thee,  then  thou  begin'st  to  live 

And  liv'st  a  glorious  and  a  godlike  life 

In  the  old  seed-house  of  the  spirit-world,  — 

Thou  hear'st  perchance  a  voice  from  hoary  eld  : 

The  work  that  thrills  thee  so  with  awe  and  dread 

Which  thou  hast  with  such  human-childish  eyes 

Gazed  on,  should  be  to  thee  a  radiant  work, 

A  work  of  beauty,  fair  and  light  and  gay 

To  thee,  as  thy  old,  joyous,  godlike  soul. 

For  naught  is  serious  which  is  transitory, 

Death  least  of  all,  and  places  of  the  dead  ; 

Naught  has  significance  save  to  the  mind, 

That  like  a  rock  withstands  the  sea  of  time, 

That  rests  on  its  own  anchors,  buoyantly, 

Even  as  a  ship  on  the  sun-bright  expanse 

Of  the  deep,  dreadful,  and  wide-weltering  sea. 

Whoso  rules  not  himself,  a  lord  of  life, 

He  cannot  live,  he  is  not  living  yet ! 

He  whirs  about  here  under  the  blue  dome 

Of  heaven,  as  bats  do  in  the  pyramid,  — 

Thou  hast  both  heard  them  whir,  and  whirred  thyself. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  317 

XXVIII. 

Take  all  Things  as  natural. 

Shall  naught  till  that  dread  morning's  thunder-peal 
Rolling,  awake  the  sleepers  from  their  tombs  ? 
Must  first  the  noonday  sun  to  blackness  turn, 
Does  not  e'en  now  the  sunlight  sing  and  say : 
"Is  it  not  still  all  human,  everything 
Which  thou  conceivest  in  thy  heart  and  thoughts, 
Of  goodness,  God,  and  immortality  ? 
Does  it  not  turn  to  human,  all,  in  thee  ? 
Dost  thou  not  just  take  home  to  thee  thine  own, 
As  the  child  plucks  the  house-flowers  for  himself? 
Cease  of  the  superhuman  to  discourse  ; 
To  man  is  nothing  superhuman,  naught, 
For  hope,  presentiment,  faith  are  human  too, 
Ay,  dreaming,  sleeping,  dying.     How  could  ev'n 
A  man  so  much  as  die,  were  't  not  that  death 
Is  human,  too,  man's  property  !     Thou  'rt  spirit, 
Be  spirit !     Whatsoe'er  is  such,  —  has  all." 


XXIX. 

Discontent  is  Despite  to  God. 

Enter  with  me  the  realm  of  thought,  and  dream  : 
"  Into  this  life  a  God  doth  usher  thee," 
He  lets  thee  first  of  all  survey  the  world, 
Shows  thee  beforehand  all  the  million  graves 
Of  them  who  left  the  earth  ere  thou  wast  born  ! 
He  lets  thee  hear  their  moans  of  sorrow  all 
Float  in  the  wind,  —  lets  thee  see  all  their  tears 


3i8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Swoll'n  to  an  ocean,  all  their  works  as  dust, 

Till  thy  soul  trembles,  and  thy  hair  stands  up,  — 

And  thou,  —  in  rage,  thou  smit'st  him  in  the  face  ! 

He  says  to  thee  :    yon  sun  in  heaven  must  sink  ! 

The  life  of  man  consists  of  day  and  night ! 

He  says  to  thee  :    Yon  flowers  must  fade  and  die, 

Thou  must  thyself  lean  on  the  staff  one  day 

A  gray  old  man,  and  sink  into  the  grave,  — 

And  then,  with  rage  thou  smit'st  him  in  the  face  ! 

He  says  to  thee:    While  thou  dost  live  this  life, 

Will  cold  and  heat  oppress  thee,  pain,  and  want, 

Thy  friend  will  turn  to  be  thy  bitter  foe, 

To  speak  the  truth  will  cost  thee  worldly  peace. 

Thy  children,  once  grown  up  and  come  of  age, 

Will  go  from  thee  to  wander  through  the  world, 

Thy  handsome  wife  grow  haggard  with  old  age  ; 

By  thousands  men  will  waste  each  other's  lives, 

The  highest  insult  man  inflicts  on  man,  — 

And  thou  with  rage  smitest  him  in  the  face, 

As  if  he  told  thee  lies,  ay,  terrible  truth  ! 

And  art  thou  in  advance  so  violent, 

Thou  wilt  refuse  to  enter  into  life, 

And  liv'st  thou  in  the  midst  of  this  fair  world, 

And  thinkest  still  such  wilful  thoughts  as  these, 

Then  wilt  thou,  impious,  fain  go  out  of  life  ; 

Thou  wilt  endure  with  hate  the  human  lot, 

Thou  wilt  not  live,  wilt  tease  thyself  to  death  ! 

The  malcontent  smites  God  upon  the  face ! 

Therefore :  to  be  content  with  that,  to  win 

By  one's  own  might  a  happy  lot  from  that, 

In  which  thy  life  peculiarly  consists,  — 

That  is  the  power,  wellnigh   omnipotent, 

That  knows  and  wills  and  does  that  which  is  man. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  319 

And  so  does  the  great  people  of  mankind, 
That  troubles  itself  more  for  bread  than  death. 


XXX. 

Love  those  roiind  tkee,  and  so  All. 

What  wilt  thou,  man,  with  the  great  swarm  of  men  ? 

Thou  unit,  with  the  thousand  duplicates  ? 

What  can  the  single  drop  do  with  the  sea, 

What  shall  the  grain  of  sand  with  mountain-chains ! 

For  that  so  many  thousand  legions  all 

Round  thee  are  men,  rejoicing  in  the  sun, 

Rejoicing  in  the  earth  and  this  fair  life, 

That,  ah  !  makes  mad  thy  heart  with  ecstasy, 

And  helplessly  thou  liftest  up  thy  arms, 

As  if  a  friend  should  fly  to  thy  embrace, 

As  if  thou  to  thy  heart  shouldst  clasp  a  bride, 

And  in  thy  frenzy,  lo  !  thou  tak'st  wild  steps  ! 

No  !   stay,  stay  quietly  in  thine  own  place, 

Thou  canst  not  make  thy  way  to  every  home, 

Away  o'er  all  the  seas,  to  all  the  isles ! 

The  sun  himself  cannot  come  down  to  all, 

Come  down  to  every  board  round  which  men  sit,  — 

Can  but  shine  on  them,  each  one's  shadow  cast, 

Rise  in  the  morn  on  each  and  bring  his  day, 

Go  down  for  each  at  night,  and  leave  him  sleep, 

And  wilt  thou  have  more  power,  then,  than  the  sun, 

That  moves  in  such  close  limits,  that  in  heaven 

With  its  bright  eye  is  yet  itself  stone  blind, 

Shines,  and  sees  not !     But  thou,  —  thou  hast  a  heart ! 

Thine  eye  is  watchful  over  all  thy  loves ; 

And  thy  warm  love  broods  like  the  clucking  hen, 


320 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


Above  them  all, — with  thy  so  narrow  wings! 

Nor  canst  thou  reach  into  the  distances, 

To  be  there,  act  there,  make  thy  voice  there  heard! 

They  live  unknown  to  thee  and  silent  all ! 

Thou  liv'st  unknown  and  silent  to  them  all ! 

And  all  of  them  can  never  come  to  thee, 

More  than  the  sea  can  to  the  water-drop. 

Yet  one  man  and  another  of  the  sea 

Of  men  comes  on  the  flood-tide  to  the  shore, 

A  wave,  to  thee  the  dweller  on  the  strand, 

And  as  an  envoy  of  the  people,  thou 

Receive  him,  as  thy  guest  in  a  glad  home  ! 

And  what  the  cellar,  what  the  coffer  holds, 

That  spare  not,  save  not  for  a  greater  day ! 

The  greatest  day  is  when  a  man  comes  to  thee. 

And  if  he  comes  from  o'er  the  ocean  sick, 

Outcast,  and  ragged,  nurse  him,  clothe  his  limbs, 

Do  him  such  honor  as  the  land  is  wont, 

And-  give  thy  penny  to  him  for  the  road, 

Love's  penny  and  the  blessing  of  the  heart 

At  every  dawn  ascend  thy  mount  and  pray 

For  a  good  day  to  all  humanity  ; 

At  every  dusk  ascend  thy  mount  and  pray 

For  a  good  night  to  all  humanity. 

And  whatsoe'er  thou  wishest  for  all,  all, 

Refuse  not  to  thine  own  !   not  to  thyself! 

No,  with  collected,  wakeful,  active  powers, 

Provide  it  for  thyself  and  those  thou  lov'st ! 

For :    "  I  too  am  a  man,"  the  universe  says  ; 

And  say  thou  after  it :  "I  too  am  a  man." 

Let  each  one  say  so  !     That  it  may  be  true, 

What  good  men  wish  to  their  dear  ones  afar ! 


THE   LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

OCTOBER. 


OCTOBER. 


I.  The  Cochineal  Worm's  Roof-Shield. 

II.  All  Seasons  and  Beings  are  linked  together. 

III.  Patience  of  Nature  and  Man. 

IV.  No  Evil  in  the  Universe. 

V.  Rule  thy  Tongue  at  Earth's  Banquet  Table. 

VI.  Neither  Life  nor  Death,  a  Dream. 

VII.  Be  Content  with  the  Present. 

VIII.  The  Soul's  instinctive  Thirst  for  Purity. 

IX.  Reverence  in  the  Living  the  Future  Dead. 

X.  Humanity  the  Roof  of  Man. 

XL  Man's  Dress  becomes  a  second  Skin. 

XII.  The  Magnetic  Mountain  of  the  Divinity. 

XIII.  The  Spirit  has  and  sees  eternal  Youth. 

XIV.  Living  in  God. 

XV.  Reason  the  Guide,  the  Way,  and  the  Goal. 

XVI.  On  giving  Advice. 

XVII.  Knowledge  after  Death. 

XVIII.  Bear  with  Thyself. 

XIX.  Grieve  for  Him  who  wrongs  Thee. 

XX.  True  Virtue  not  mercenary. 

XXI.  The  Tranquillity  of  living  God's  Life. 

XXII.  Accept  all  God's  Creatures  as  they  are. 

XXIII.  Seek  Goodness,  not  Goods. 

XXIV.  A  pure  Youth,  —  a  happy  Manhood. 
XXV.  Woman  the  Judge  and  Mirror  of  the  Times. 

XXVI.  Man's  Mind  must  be  his  Kingdom. 

XXVII.  Earth  preaches  Generosity  to  Man. 

XXVIII.  The  Man  who  in  gaining  the  World  loses  Himself. 

XXIX.  Clearness  of  Perception  brings  Content. 

XXX.  Sincerity. 

XXXI.  The  Yearning  to  see  our  Dead  ones  again. 


OCTOBER. 


The  Cochineal  Worm's  Roof-Shield. 

RIGHT  purple  roof  of  the  gay-colored  earth, 
Covering  her  autumn  with  a  holy  calm, 
The  crimson-tipped   young  harvest,  and  the 

buds, 

Eyes  of  the  trees,  that  in  another  spring 
Will  open  to  the  light,  —  fair  heavenly  shield, 
Soul-touching  sight !     How  like  is,  after  all, 
The  great  of  God  to  the  small  things  of  earth ! 
And  ah,  how  like  the  littleness  of  life 
To  the  great  things  of  immortality ! 
And  so  I  liken  thee,  thou  purple  roof, 
To  the  mother  of  the  silken  purple  worms,* 
The  marriage  scarce  complete,  the  husband  died. 
But  she  survived  him  haply  by  a  month  ; 
Upon  'one  spot  she  sits  and  never  stirs 
Till  she  has  duly  brought  her  children  forth. 
The  more  of  them  she  has  produced  to  light, 
The  thinner  she  herself,  poor  mother,  grows, 
Until  at  last  she  dries  up  to  a  crust ; 
And  under  this  still  dwells  her  little  tribe 
A  goodly  season,  safe  and  prosperous, 
As  underneath  a  beauteous  holy  shield,  — 

*  The  Cochineal  worm. 


324 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


Maternal  love  grown  into   house-like  shape  ! 
And  so  art  thou,  purple-red  evening-heaven, 
That  coverest  autumn  now  with  holy  calm, 
Maternal  love  grown  into  house-like  shape, 
Beneath  whose  roof  we  tarry  yet  awhile, 
The  crimson-tipped  young  harvest,  and  the  buds, 
Eyes  of  the  trees,  which  in  another  spring 
Will  open  to  the  light,  —  but  thou  art  gone. 


n. 

All  Seasons  and  Beings  are  linked  together. 

Now  when  the  trees  in  autumn  leafless  stand, 

The  sun  shines  down  upon  the  bare,  brown  earth, 

Earth, — not  appointed  to  unfruitfulness, 

And  utter  ruin,  —  and  the  falling  leaves 

Show,  on  the  twigs,  cosily  nested  there, 

The  little,  new,  expectant,  next  year's  buds, — 

There,  —  undeniably,  inseparably, 

Surviving  all  the  faded,  vanished  life,  — 

There,  with  their  sacred  and  eternal  claim 

To  life,  earth,  sunshine,  and  the  human  heart 

Ah,  then,  athwart  the  light  of  the  cold  sun 

Gleams  the  new  spring-time,  and  the  heart  of  man 

Lives  in  the  future  !  lives  with  thee,  and  feels 

Immortal  youth,  O  nature,  in  thy  breath, 

In  thy  prophetic  soul,  eternal  mother ! 

Naught  stands  alone.     Naught  can  alone  abide. 

What  is,  needs  each  thing  else  to  help  it  be  ; 

What  lives,  needs  each  thing  else  to  help  it  live  ; 

The  sun  goes  not  without  the  great  star-clock, 

Nor  burns  without  the  sea  of  ether-oil. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


325 


The  earth  shows  not  upon  her  dial-plate 

One  buttercup  without  the  starry  clock. 

So  shall  these  dry  rose-bushes  at  my  side 

No  more  bear  leaves  again,  —  no  blade  of  grass 

Lift  itself  up  again  without  the  help 

Of  the  whole  universe,  the  magic  power 

Dwelling  in  farthest  depths,  which  has  till  now 

Called  to  the  earth  with  ceaseless,  noiseless  force  ! 

And  thou,  O  man,  wilt  lean  on  self  alone  ? 

Stand  by  thyself  without  one  other  man, 

Or  without  all  men  ?  without  all  the  world  ? 

Here  bow  thyself !     Confess  aloud  and  glad  : 

Yes,  I  do  need  the  dew,  that  falls  by  night, 

The  sweep  of  clouds,  the  fanning  of  the  breeze, 

For  each  fresh  respiration  ;  even  to  see 

My  hand,  say  nothing  of  the  mother  bearing 

Her  infant  in  her  arms  among  the  flowers  ; 

Yes,  I  need  man,  ay,  and  the  beggar,  too, 

And  every  child  that  meets  me  in  my  walk, 

The  very  bird  that  darts  by  overhead  ! 

The  tempest's  uproar  and  the  silent  flash, 

(For  the  All  needs  it  indispensably,) 

Yea,  I  have  need  of  death,  I  need  the  grave 

For  life  !  for  youth  !  and  for  accomplishment !  — 

More  than,  for  blooming,  the  dry  apple-tree 

Needs  the  artistic,  delicate,  seeing  fingers 

Of  the  still  sprites,  whose  labor  shapes  the  spring, — 

For  I  do  need  the  spirits,  as  a  spirit  ! 

And  I  have  need  to  love,  as  being  love  ! 

And  to  be  loved,  as  the  reward  of  life. 

'T  is  the  reward  God  yearns  for,  to  be  loved. 

Whoever  says  :  "  Thou  art !  "  he  says  :  "  I  love  thee  ! " 

Who  says  :  "  I  love  thee  !  "  only  says  :  "  Thou  art. 


326  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  art  to  me  ! "  Learn  love  then,  thousand-fold, 
By  insight  deep;  "What  thou  art  not  — is  all!" 


in. 

Patience  of  Nature  and  Man. 

Now  all  the  flowers  are  dying !     All  returns 

With  silent  speed  to  whence  it  lately  came, 

And  now,  more  sharply,  and  more  sadly  far 

Than  once  spring's  blooming  twigs,  —  pale  autumn  points 

With  myriad  withered  flower-stalks  up  to  Heaven : 

To  ether,  of  all  things  the  bourne  and  grave  ; 

And  ah  !  this  silence  wellnigh  breaks  my  heart, 

The  supernatural  hush  of  the  blue  grave, 

The  silence  of  these  withered  flower-heads, 

That  patient  perish,  as  they  patient  lived. 

O,  truly  !     We  are  better  than  the  flowers, 

Yet  happier  are  the  flowers  than  are  we  men, 

Yea,  ev'n  the  leaves  that  rustle  at  our  feet, 

They  know  no  fear,  no,  only  human  hearts. 

So  lovely  even  the  show  of  patience  is, 

That  thou  dost  praise  the  flowers — that  they  endure. 

Endurance  is  not  patience  !    with  pure  heart, 

With  heavenly  soul  to  bear  the  lot  of  earth, 

Feeling  one's  self,  living  above  it  all, 

As  high  above  the  clouds  the  sun  shines  on,  — 

That,  —  that  is  patience  !    with  guilt-conscious  heart 

To  appear  patient,  is  but  punishment. 

With  lightsome  joy  to  accept  mistaken  things 

—  Serpents  for  fishes  —  is  sheer  senselessness. 

Only  the  best  wear  patience  as  a  crown 

Fair  as  a  lunar  rainbow,  and  as  rare ! 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  327 


IV. 

No  Evil  in  the  Universe. 

Badness  thou  know'st  not !     'T  is  impossible 

In  this,  God's  world,  —  world  of  outspoken  love. 

Only  the  pitiable,  that  thou  knowest 

Well,  yea,  right  well,  the  sunlight's  blinding  glare, 

The  misstep  of  precipitancy.     Yes, 

I  know  the  yonder  side  of  every  heart,  — 

The  home  of  other  men  I  recognize,  — 

That  which  to  thee  and  other  men  seems  hate, 

Robbery,  murder,  villany,  and' crime, 

On  this  side,  —  looked  at  on  the  other  side 

That  of  the  living  and  the  loving  One, 

Is  only  favor,  honor,  truth  and  love,  — 

In  its  own  way,  upon  the  scale  of  man,    ' 

As  he,  oft  darkened,  comprehends  the  world, 

Sees  darkly  and  defends  his  home,  his  heart, 

And  thirsts  to  do  that  which  to  him  is  good. 

And  will  thou  call  what  must  be,  evil,  then  ? 

Works,  —  without  which  the  spider  or  the  wasp, 

No,  not  the  tiger  or  the  crocodile, 

Nor  the  hyena,  can  prolong  its  life,  — 

Works,  without  which  they  would  not  be  the  creatures 

Tormenting  and  tormented  as  thou  deem'st, 

Which  now  they  are,  as  thou  wouldst  not  be  man, 

Didst  thou  not  act  the  part  of  man  to  them. 

And  if  to  swallow  down  the  tiger  costs 

The  anaconda  but  a  little  rage, 

Forgive  her  for  it,  —  thou  oft  art  hungry,  too, 

And  appetite  must  be  strong  to  eat  the  skin ! 

Yet  all  the  thousand-fold,  thousand-year-old 


328  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Carnage  in  watery  seas  and  seas  of  air 

On  all  the  stars,  in  forests,  on  the  earth, 

To  the  clear  human  sense  it  is  no  more 

Than  if  a  violet  sipped  a  drop  of  dew, 

Than  if  a  man  before  his  table  sat 

And  prayed :    Thy  servant,  Lord,  will  eat,  —  will  live  ! 

For  from  the  moment  when  it  once  is  born, 

To  eat :  is  every  creature's  daily  birth, 

And  without  eating  —  if  we  view  the  thing 

Externally  —  creation,  life,  is  not, 

And  without  love  creative,  is  no  God. 

And  eating  is  the  world's  one  mighty  want, 

The  great  necessity,  the  holy  law  ; 

And  suns  and  constellations  evermore 

Swallow  whole  streams  of  life-sustaining  drink, 

In  every  drop  a  living  multitude, 

Even  spirits  must  they  take  into  themselves. 

See  now,  upon  my  window-pane  the  wasp 

Seizes  the  gold-fly  fast ;  and  gradually 

Devours  the  fly  alive  ;  the  carcass  leaves 

All  hollow,  —  and  if  even  the  gold-fly 

Could  chant  a  miserere,  pray  and  cry 

All  through  King  David's  psalms  in  wailing  tone, 

She  would  not,  —  for  she  feels  not  human  woe, 

The  pain  and  grief  of  finely  kneaded  man, 

She  sucks,  while  dying,  honey  from  my  hand, 

She  has  no  sense  of  death,  —  she  is  bill  bread; 

And  as,  to  man,  a  hundred  thousand  creatures 

Have  been  but  bread,  so  is  he  bread  in  turn, 

One  day,  to  them  ;  as  he  has  acted  death, 

So  nature  in  the  lion,  now,  to  him 

Is  death.     Naught  else!     And  is  there  misery  here, 

And  is  there  pain,  —  no  evil  is  there  here  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  329 

And  now,  if  this  contents  thee,  worthy  soul, 

That  in  the  universe  no  evil  is, 

This  workmanship  of  pure  and  perfect  love, 

Nor  in  each  little  work,  —  live  calmly  then, 

Released  from  dreams  of  terrors  haunting  thee  ! 

For  if  a  wasp  should  ever  eat  a  fly 

Out  of  pure  malice,  then  would  rightfully 

The  very  heavens  at  once  in  ruins  sink ! 

Our  God  is  not :    arch-crocodile,  arch-tiger, 

As  oft  thy  fancy  shapes  the  dreadful  ones,  — 

The  very  crocodile  is  childlike,  lives 

As  child  beside  the  pike  who,  with  his  prey 

In  his  teeth,  swims  all  day  with  him  in  the  pool ! 

And  first  be  they,  —  on  God  then  pronounce  sentence, 

And  call  him  Ahriman  and  call  him  Devil. 


Rule  thy  Tongue  at  Earth's  Banquet  Table. 

A  well-spread  table  is  a  pleasant  rack, 

By  wine  and  lickerish  viands  amiably 

To  draw  out  from  the  fool  his  secret  thoughts, 

And  make  him  lie  about  himself  and  others. 

Who  can  keep  silence  there,  is  well  advanced ! 

A  travelled  one,  who  only  hears  and  learns. 

To  all  men  verily  the  earth  is  just 

A  well-spread  table  and  a  pleasant  rack  ; 

The  host,  too,  has  withdrawn  himself  from  sight ; 

Now,  whatsoe'er  enchants  them,  whatsoe'er 

Oppresses  them,  that  must  they  put  in  words, 

All  they  have  seen,  heard,  learned,  and  done  must  they 

Set  forth  agreeably.     If  there  were  left 


330  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

One  shy  one,  from  his  heart  a  handsome  wife 
Were  sure  to  coax  out  the  last  mystery 
Till  he  stands  empty  as  the  bottles  there, 
Yet  glad  :   that  he  has  talked  himself  all  out ! 
Who  help  them  out  in  this,  they  are  the  poets, 
Who  for  the  duller  ones  take  up  the  word, 
As  elder  brothers  and  sisters  do  for  children. 
Who  can  keep  silent  then  is  far  ahead! 
A  travelled  one,  who  only  hears  and  learns. 


VI. 

Neither  Life  nor  Death>  a  Dream. 

That  is  the  greatest  falsehood  this  world  tells  : 

That  "death  is  like  a  sleep  and  like  a  dream." 

How  long  are  dead  men  dead  ?   say,  till  to-morrow  ? 

If  living  on  faintly  resembled  dream, 

'T  were  better  for  thee,  then,  not  to  live  on, 

Than,  all  dissolved,  from  every  virtue  loosed 

And  decency,  willingly  do  and  bear 

Things  most  revolting,  as  a  dreamer  must, 

In  the  dream-fancies  of  his  soul  a  wretch 

A  wicked  man  and  slave  of  wicked  men,  — 

Whose  waking  thought  and  deed  were  free  and  noble  ! 

Believe  thou  gladly  :    spirit  is  will !   believe  : 

The  true  will  is  to  choose  the  purest  things. 

Therefore,  no  sleep,  no  dream  is  death  ;   and  therefore 

Death  also  is  no  dream,  no  sleep,  —  it  is 

In  this  fair  universe  much  less  a  thing 

For  spirits  than  sinking  into  element ! 

The  true  man  is  true  spirit.     To  the  spirit, 

The  one  sole  substantive  in  all  the  world, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  331 

All  other  words  are  only  adjectives  ! 

Good  luck  and  bad  are  adjectives  ;   birth  and  death  ; 

Yea,  even  love  is  but  an  adjective. 


VII. 

Be  Content  with  the  Present. 

O  see,  the  flowering  time  of  pinks  is  past, 

And  no  more  fragrance  will  these  pinks  exhale 

So  long  as  heaven  shall  stand.   Thou  thought'st,  perchance, 

They  would  for  one  day  and  all  days  to  come 

Bloom  on  for  thee,  as  thy  admiring  eyes 

Beheld  them  blow  in  such  magnificence  ! 

And  then  thou  didst  neglect  them,  —  for  a  day, 

Day  after  day,  —  till  now  they  are  no  more, 

And  thou  art  shocked !     So  be  thou  never  shocked 

At  human  life  !     O  see,  I  pray,  the  eyes 

Of  friends  and  loved  ones  blooming  all  for  thee 

So  tenderly,  so  sweely  !     Think,  they  too 

Do  only  in  their  season  bloom  for  thee, 

And  in  their  season  they,  too,  fade  away 

And  die,  —  and  thou  hast  only  visited, 

Only  neglected  them.     Neglected  them,  — 

The  sweet  ones  ?     Ah,  unique  is  every  shape  ; 

Each  figure  that  has  ever  issued  forth 

From  holy  Nature!  ....  while  so  many  come, 

Daily,  by  thousands,  crowding  on  each  other, 

That  cheats  thee  with  a  show  of  permanent  life 

In  them  who  with  thee  tread  the  common  earth 

And  look  to-day  upon  the  sun  with  thee. 

The  soft  light  of  the  sun,  —  nay,  your  own  light 

Fades  softly,  —  imperceptibly,  —  and  thou 


332  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Canst  no  more  speak  a  syllable  to  thy  friend  ! 

A  word,  a  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  look 

From  him  were  dearer  now  than  a  whole  sun ! 

Less  possible  than  flame  from  ashes  now! 

I  only  beg,  then,  not  demand  of  thee : 

Clearly  discern  the  present !    't  is  thine  own, 

Thy  only  time,  —  prize  it  accordingly! 

Let  what  thou  hast,  abide  before  thy  eyes, 

And  to  thy  heart  come  homeward,  —  like  thy  blood  ! 


VIII. 
The  Sotd's  instinctive  Thirst  for  Piirity. 

I  look  with  wonder  on  the  human  soul, 

That  yearns  to  be  as  pure  as  polished  steel, 

As  crystal  clear,  —  seen  through  and  seeing  through  ; 

And  every  slightest  stain  is  a  sore  load,  — 

It  is  not  pure  !   and  so  remorse  and  shame, 

Not  only  in  the  sun's  eye,  torture  it, — 

Before  the  very  child,  before  the  flowers  ! 

It  needed  that,  to  be,  and  to  abide, 

And  to  be  ever  growing,  God's  own  like. 

The  maiden  conscious  of  no  other  fault,  — 

She  weeps  now  merely  for  three  summer  shoots, 

Just  as  in  prison  he  grown  sober,  weeps, 

Who  slew  one  yesterday  in  a  drunken  brawl. 

And  that  so  much  high  soul  and  heavenly  fire, 

In  all  men's  bosoms  round  about  the  earth, 

Breathes  out,  burns  out,  in  shape  of  fear  and  dread, 

That  makes  the  thought  upon  our  human  kind, 

Good  souls,  —  so  sweet  and  precious  to  the  good. 

And  even  he  who  had  no  task  on  earth, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  333 

Would  have  a  world  beam  out  to  make  him  think, 
Would  have  a  world  bloom  out  to  make  him  feel. 
I  tell  thee  this,  thou  sick,  thou  suffering  one, 
Thou  aged  man,  thou  captive  !     Strike  this  thought 
As  in  thy  prison  thou  wouldst  strike  a  light,  — 
All  shall  be  heavenly-light  and  cheerful  there. 


IX. 
Reverence  in  the  Living  the  future  Dead. 

Revere  the  living  ;   stand  in  awe  of  them, 
Nor  from  the  eye  of  childhood  wring  a  tear ! 
They  may  one  day,  and  soon,  before  thine  eyes 
Become  dead  men,  and  whatsoe'er  of  harm 
Thou,  dazed  by  day,  hast  ever  done  to  them,  — 
That  hast  thou  done  to  poor,  poor,  poor  dead  men, 
Yes,  —  or  hast  done  to  lofty,  lofty  souls, 
Yea,  —  or  hast  done  to  God,  to  God  himself! 
But  to  thyself,  for  certain,  to  thyself, 
And  on  thyself  the  deed  comes  rushing  back, 
And  earth  now  with  her  open  eye  —  the  grave  — 
Stares  at  thee  for  it,  —  the  sun's  eye  glares  at  thee, 
Yea,  though  the  dead  against  thee  close  his  eye 
Still  as  a  little  child  whom  thou  wouldst  kiss, — 
The  sight  of  him  shall  pierce  and  rend  thy  heart ! 
The  blow  thou  gavest  to  the  poor  sick  dog, 
Will  wake  remorse  in  thee,  —  when  he  is  dead, 
Will  wake  remorse  in  thee,  —  when  thou  art  dead. 
O  not  from  childhood's  eye  wring  thou  a  tear  ! 
Revere  the  living ;   stand  in  awe  of  them ! 


334  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Humanity  the  Roof  of  Man. 

Why  do  the  tiles  themselves  form  so  secure 

A  covering  to  the  roof?     Is  't  not  because 

Each  one  so  closely  nestles  to  the  rest, 

And  streams  of  rain  glide  off  as  from  a  shield  ! 

But  if  man  e'er  so  little  parts  from  man, 

How  shall  humanity  securely  dwell  ? 

That  is  their  shield,  that  is  their  house  and  roof, 

Their  host,  their  guest,  their  very  One  in  all. 


XI. 
Man's  Dress  becomes  a  second  Skin. 

The  dress  of  man  soon  grows  to  be  his  skin, 
Ay,  and  its  color  eats  into  —  his  soul, 
Be  it  or  black,  or  purple,  or  blood-red. 
And  what,  by  day,  he  carries  in  his  hand, 
Sceptre  or  sword  or  yardstick,  thereupon 
He  dreams  by  night,  just  as  the  beggar's  dreams 
Are  off  his  staff.     At  last,  even  in  broad  day, 
Man  walks  and  talks  out  loudly  in  his  dreams, 
And  ceases  henceforth  to  be  only  man, 
Unless,  perchance,  he  ever  dreams  —  of  man. 
Reflect,  then  :    whoso  has  a  dignity, 
He  mostly  parts  with  that  first  dignity 
Which  Nature  gave  him,  as  a  naked  child. 
Then  let  him  think  of  her  and  hug  to  himself, — 
What  he,  as  fool,  endowed  himself  withal ; 
For  wert  thou  born  beneath  a  torrid  sun, 
Even  there  thy  skin  would  dye  itself  again. 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  335 

XII. 

The  Magnetic  Mountain  of  the  Divinity. 

"  What  mighty  thing  is  this  divinity, 

Wherefrom  and  whereinto  thou  spin'st  thyself  and  man, 

Whose  —  macroscope  alone  discloses  it?" 

I  know  not.     Yet  't  is  certain  for  all  that, 

And  well  may  have,  perchance,  great  love  and  woe, 

Pleasure  and  pain  and  toil  within  itself, 

If  to  its  play  of  power  all  is  not  light ; 

Even  blessedness  in  overmeasure,  light. 

Divinity  means — all  things  possible; 

'T  is  one,  hence  with  itself  forever  one, 

Steadfast,  more  firm  than  any  anchor  is, 

And  all  the  stars  securely  hold  by  it, 

And  so,  then,  may,  I  think,  even  little  man  ! 

And  were  he  only  iron,  not  a  magnet, 

Still  he  belongs  —  to  the  magnetic  mountain! 

'T  would  still  attract  him,  —  as  it  once  repelled  him 

Into  this  life,  —  in  angel-armor  clad! 

XIII. 

The  Spirit  has  and  sees  eternal  Youth. 

The  morn  seems  far  more  beauteous  than  the  day, 

And  yet  is  only  young  day's  holy  hush  ! 

The  new-born  child  appears  a  holier  thing 

Than  the  great  full-grown  child,  whose  name  is  man, 

Who  clanks  in  armor,  marries,  builds,  —  grows  old  ! 

Youth  seems  a  gladder  period  than  life, 

And  yet  is  but  its  inner  coming  forth, 

Its  inner  growth,  schooling  and  finishing, 


336  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Related,  as  the  COOK  to  the  full  feast, 

And  as  the  bride-bed  to  the  perfect  bride. 

And  therefore,  when  thou  dost  survey  and  judge 

All  things  around  thee,  then  forget  thou  not 

Their  origin,  their  going  and  outgoing. 

The  acorn  is  not  meaner  than  the  oak 

As  thou  may'st  see,  when  it  strews  acorns  round, 

How  it  bore  acorns  only,  as  its  best ! 

That  only  which  things  leave  behind  them,  all, 

That  is  their  touchstone,  evidence  and  pith  ; 

• —  Their  worth  is,  like  a  mill-stone,  proved  by  use. 

End  and  beginning  meet  again  at  last, 

Old  age  and  childhood  meet  again  at  last, 

Man  ends,  as  he  began,  with  sleep,*  —  and  sleep 

Comes  out  of  waking  and  is  lost  therein. 

And  naught  in  heaven  resembles  morning  red 

So  to  the  finest  flame,  —  as  evening's  red, 

Which  tranquilly  at  last  completes  the  morn  ; 

And  all  things  end  again,  as  they  began. 


XIV. 
Living  in  God. 

For  worthy  living  open  thou  the  heavens  ! 
Open  the  heart  of  God  and  —  live  in  it. 
Thou  livest  in  thy  house,  thy  house  again 
Lies  in  the  country,  and  the  country  lies 
On  earth,  and  earth  lies  in  the  lap  of  heaven, 
It  swims  therein,  reposes  in  God's  world,  — 
And  God's  world  rests  deep  in  the  heart  of  God. 
Live  worthily,  O  man,  thou  liv'st  in  God, 

*  "  Our  little  life  is  rounded  with  a  sleep."  —  SHAKESPEARE. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  337 

God  lives  in  thee,  He  lives  in  all  the  heavens, 
He  lives  here  on  the  earth,  lives  in  thy  land, 
He  lives  within  thy  house,  He  lives  in  thee  ! 
For  worthy  living  open  thou  the  heavens  ! 
Open  the  heart  of  God,  and  live  in  Him  ! 


xv. 
Reason  the  Guide,  the  Way,  and  the  Goal. 

What  man  is  he,  who,  journeying  by  night, 

Will  throw  his  guide  into  the  ditch,  put  out 

His  torch,  and  think  he  now  can  better  tread 

The  easy  way  that  leads  him  to  his  home  ? 

That  man  is  man,  who  scorns  experience 

Nor  follows  reason's  light,  the  lamp  of  life. 

That  man  wants  reason  who  spurns  reason's  eyes. 

She  shows  the  way,  urges  him  on  therein  ; 

Reason,  —  that  is  life's  road; — as  Plato  once, 

Kind  to  a  band  of  strangers,  journeying 

With  him,  unrecognized  by  them,  to  see 

Plato  in  Athens, — led  them  to  himself! 

Do  all  thou  needest  to  become  a  man  ; 

Yet  that  is  small !   for  man  's  a  simple  thing  ; 

Yet  that  is  glorious  !    for  man  is  much, 

Is  much  already, — long  ago  was  most; 

The  simple  things  are  great,  —  so  is  man's  soul ! 

Simple  and  beautiful,  one  with  itself; 

Quick-acting,  even  in  all  the  small  unrest, 

That  comes  to  it  in  the  train  of  little  things, 

Which  only  man,  in  simple  wholeness  clear, 

Has  to  take  thought  of  and  take  knowledge  of, 

To  see  and  say  and  do,  —  upon  the  earth. 

15  v 


338    -          THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  never  wilt  be  happy  yet,  O  man, 

Till  thou  shalt  cease  to  dissipate  thyself 

Capriciously,  till  thou  shalt  gather  up 

The  powers  of  thy  body  and  thy  soul ! 

Till  thou  art  simple  and  harmonious, 

Simple  in  thought  and  feeling,  love  and  life  : 

Simplicity  itself  with  one  whole  heart. 

Union,  simplification,  melting  down 

Of  good  things,  which  are  hardly  separate  goods, 

That  is  humanity's  task  and  every  man's, 

Renunciation  of  what  sunders  men, 

And  solidarity,  —  a  mighty  power 

In  each  one !   and  in  all !   what  mighty  power 

And  greatness  !     Inner  peace  !     Tranquillity  ! 

The  tranquil  man  alone  does  rightly  all 

Tfhat  must  be  done  !  the  right !     The  tranquil  man 

Alone  has  little  la&or,—but  much  reason. 

Reason  's  the  road,  then,  to  tranquillity ! 


XVI. 

On  giving  Advice. 

Give  no  one  "good  advice."     Take  good  advice 
From  no  one.     He  subjects  his  soul  to  thee,  — 
And  thou  thy  wish  to  him  ;    you  bind  each  other 
Instead  of  freeing.     Goodness  must  be  free. 
No  man  can  mount  up  by  another's  stairs  : 
Many  as  are  the  houses,  so  the  steps. 
Who  gives  advice  forces  his  steps  on  thee, 
Nay,  worse  than  that :    his  wisdom,  yea,  his  life  ! 
Advise  and  be  advised  to  what  is  good  ! 
The  word  is  deep :     Take  counsel  to  do  good  ! 


THE  LAYMAN^S  BREVIARY. 

Give  thou  the  tune,  and  |ake  it,  from  the  sound 

Of  Heaven's  music,  strike  upon  that  bell  ; 

Therein  unfolds  itself  the  proper  soul, 

Like  to  a  rose  beneath  the  dew  of  heaven, 

And  out  of  the  original  fulness  comes, 

Original  and  beautiful  and  thine  :  — 

The  free  deed,  offspring  fair  of  the  free  breast. 

Counsel  to  good  alone  ne'er  errs  nor  leaves 

Remorse  ;   wilt  thou  advise  the  rose  to  bloom,  — 

Then  canst  thou  find,  and  God  himself  could  find, 

In  this  extreme  stress  and  emergency 

No  better  counsel  and  no  surer  way, 

Than  just  to  let  it  have  the  sun's  warm  light, 

To  give  it  water,  and  keep  far  away 

The  caterpillar  from  the  tender  leaf. 

But  man,  —  as  if  he  were  a  marble  block, 

Thou  wilt  regard,  rolling  him  to  the  place, 

That  seems  to  thee  to  suit  the  marble  block. 

Not  more  opaque  the  marble   block  itself, 

Than  a  man's  breast  to  thee  and  thine  to  him. 


XVII. 
Knowledge  after  Death. 

When  thou  art  one  day  dead  and  now  art  borne 
Out  of  thy  house,  out  of  thy  body  borne, 
Borne  forth  from  out  the  friendly  throng  of  men, 
And, — and  thou  surely  still  shalt  know  the  lot 
Of  loved  ones  left  behind  thee  on  the  earth, — 
Shalt  thou  not  know  the  earth  then  ?    know  a  star  ? 
Nay,  and  have  power  to  know  each  star  in  heaven  ? 
Shalt  thou  not  know  mankind,  then,  and  its  fate  ? 
And  who  then  must  thou  be,  whom  men  call  dead  ? 


339 


340  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XVIII. 
Bear  with  Thyself. 

Remember  not  thy  faults  with  bitterness, 

Vengeful  against  thyself;    't  were  punishing 

One  who  then  was  not  yet,  —  thy  better  self! 

Thou  wilt  chastise  thyself,  that  proves  thee  better  ; 

To-day  thou  liv'st,  they  are  no  more  thy  faults. 

Remember  not  thy  faults  with  pleasure,  —  then 

They  are,  then  thou  repeatest  them  to-day. 

Ungodly  is  remorse,  that  petrifies ! 

That  thrusts  thee  down  among  the  spirits  of  hell ! 

For  in  thee,  dwelling  in  sweet  secrecy 

And  blissful  purity  forevermore, 

^  spirit  lives  in  holy  silentness, 

Far  nobler,  purer  than  will  ever  was, 

That  spirit  is  man.     As  such  a  spirit  man 

Should  feel  himself!     Such  ever  should  he  be  ! 

Thou  should'st  be  man  again  and  yet  again, 

After  each  night,  as  after  each  misstep, 

After  each  day,  as  after  each  good  deed. 

That  thou  hast  erred,  should  teach  thee  this  one  thing 

Thou  may'st  to-day,  too,  err  in  other  things. 

Then  think  not :    how  shall  I  to-morrow  feel  ? 

What  good  to-morrow  do  ?     What  wrong  commit  ? 

The  hour  that  cometh  brings  to  man  his  task  ; 

The  foeman  brings  to  the  brave  man  his  might  ; 

Let  only  the  next  step  be  always  right ! 

The  next  deed  only  always  be  well  done  ! 

Only  remember  always  to  do  good, 

Then  in  a  godlike  way  thou  shunnest  evil. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY,  341 

XIX. 

Grieve  for  Him  who  wrongs  Thee. 

Thou  good  soul,  thou  that  sheddest  bitterest  tears 

Over  a  foul  wrong  done  thee  by  a  friend, 

Loved  fondly,  be  thou  tranquil !   for  thyself 

Be  glad  !   though,  ah,  for  the  beloved  one  not,  — 

Misfortune  has  o'ertaken  thee  !     Another's 

Misfortune  !    Yea,  his  blindness  !  his  delusion ! 

So  think,  and  now  thy  deepest  grief  is  gone, 

Is  swiftly  turned  to  courage  and  glad  zeal 

Not  for  thy  cure,  —  no,  his,  the  sufferer's, 

Who  has,  alas  !  done  thee  such  grievous  wrong, 

And,  if  he  knew  it,  would  so  grieve  for  it ! 

And  now  thou  nobly  stiflest  thine  own  grief, —  * 

—  Light  earthly  sorrow,  conquered  easily,  — 

Thou  'rt  kind  to  him,  and  lo  !    he  weeps  and  sobs.  — 

Is  this  the  bad  the  world  contains,  O  man, 

Then  will  I  never  ask  a  better  good! 


xx. 

True  Virtue  not  Mercenary. 

If  for  good  works  thou  askest  a  reward, 

Then  sink'st  thou  to  a  servant.     Be  the  master, 

Reward  the  good,  acknowledge  it,  in  silence. 

"  The  honest  servant,  who  says  naught,  asks  much." 

Still,  he  repays  most  nobly,  who  in  silence 

Hides  the  good  deed.     Reward  not  then  thyself,— 

Say,  haply  there  is  one  thou  serv'st  with  joy, 

JT  will  comfort  much  thy  neighbor,  comfort  much 


342  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  poor  to  know:    where  to  find  help  in  need. 

Does  not  one  owe  thee  thanks  whom  thou  hast  served  ? 

Dost  thou  not  owe  him   thanks,  that   thou  couldst   serve 

him  ? 

Say,  is  the  crop  a  debtor  to  the  clouds 
That  rain  upon  it  ?     Is  the  farmer,  then, 
The  debtor  ?     How  then  shall  he  pay  his  debt  ? 
The  harvest  needs  the  rain  ;   the  farmer  needs 
The  bread  to  live  by  :    does  it  call  for  thanks 
That  some  one  is  just  saved  from  perishing  ? 
And  that  he  prospers  and  the  giver  too  ? 
"  In  Heaven  is  no  account-book,  nor  on  earth, 
Wherein  is  registered  what  each  one  owes, 
Throughout  the  Universe,  to  all  and  each  : 
Neither  how  much  the  lily  owes  the  dew, 
Nor  what  the  bee  must  pay  the  clover-bloom, 
Nor  what  the  clover  owes  the  husbandman, 
Nor  what  's  the  debt  the  cluster  owes  the  vine, 
Nor  how  much  the  vine-dresser  owes  the  vine, 
Nor  what  the  stork,  as  debtor  to  his  wife, 
Owes  for  his  children  and  what  she  owes  him, 
Nor  what  the  wide  world  over,  man  owes  man  ! " 
Only  the  blind  would  open  such  a  book 
Of  reckoning  with  his  very  mother's  sons, 
With  his  own  children,  yea,  his  very  father! 
Lo,  no  one  of  the  creatures  will  be  paid 
For  its  own  proper  work ;   the  spider  not 
For  wages  spins,  nor  sings  the  lark  her  song. 
As  blooming  to  the  tree,  and  to  the  dew 
Its  nightly  fall,  so  let  well-doing  be 
To  thee,  dear  man  !     For  wilt  thou,  then,  be  worse 
Than  yonder  field,  which  for  its  crop  of  wheat 
Desires  no  other  thanks  than, — a  new  crop? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  343 

Or  than  the  Sun,  who  for  his  day  demands 

No  other  favor  than  —  to  rise  again, 

And  does  arise  again  —  unconsciously? 

O  what  pure,  holy  magnanimity 

In  Nature  !     What  a  blest  activity, 

Endless  and  tireless,  through  the  Universe, — 

Where  one  to  another,  and  the  whole  to  all 

Pours  out  help,  fellowship,  yea,  all  its  power 

And  love,  and  even  its  own  fair  being's  joy, 

With  hearty  faith,  fulness,  and  still  content, 

In  payment  of  an  old,  enormous  debt, 

Yet  without  even  thinking  once  withal 

Whether  a  particle  is  paid  thereby, — 

Until  thy  soul  sinks  at  the  sight  with  shame ! 

O  be  thou  not  ashamed!  —  Do  thou  the  like!  — 

Know  not,  O  man,  even  that  thou  doest  goodj 

For  sooner  do  thou  evil  consciously! 

That  shows  thee  noble  !     Whoso  knows  and  thinks ; 

"  Now  I  do  good  !  "   knows  naught  of  God,  nor  yet 

Of  natures  godlike  in  their  purity ; 

Be  still  and  know  God  lives  in  thee.     Be  good  ! 

Then  only  do,  what  't  is  thy  nature  to, 

Just  as  it  is  the  cloud's  to  scatter  rain, 

Just  as  it  is  the  sun's  to  shine  down  warm  ; 

The  good  man's  doing  is  simply  doing  good. 

So  sleep  does  good  to  weary  ones ;   and  lo, 

The  sleeper  knows  it  not !  —  nor  yet  does  sleep 

Know  what  it  does!— be  thou  like  sleep,  O  man. 


344  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXI. 

The  Tranquillity  of  living  God's  Life. 

Good  soul,  canst  thou  not  suffer,  innocent, — 

Thou  canst  do  nothing !   canst  not  even  breathe, 

Be  young,  old,  gray.  —  "  But  how  shall  that  be  learned  ? " 

First  think,  for  ten  years'  space  :    I  'm  in  the  wrong : 

Then  wilt  thou  see,  how  oft  thou  truly  art! 

Each  creature's  proper  being  gladly  own, 

The  Universe's,  even  to  the  finger-tips 

Of  every  child !   even  to  the  tips  of  leaves, 

Not  to  say,  even  to  every  human  soul ; 

Then  giv'st  thou  each  its  rights  and  tak'st  thine  own 

By  doing  right,  at  peace  within,  —  with  all : 

Not,  to  bear  calmly  and  submissively 

Each  pain  and  hardship,  is  thy  happiness! 

'T  is  not  the  power  to  bear  that  makes  thee  happy : 

Not  patience  and  endurance  make  man  good; 

No,  thou  art  truly  happy  that  each  pain 

And  every  hardship  is  a  part  of  life 

For  thee,  and  in  itself  a  mighty  boon : 

It  is  to  thee  a  pure,  rich,  noble  stuff, 

Not  merely,  as  through  crystal,  to  behold 

The  fair  world  through,  and  mourn  it  and  thyself; 

No,  see  it  in  its  image  there!     This  pain, 

Itself  is,  like  a  rose,  the  work  of  God, 

A  masterpiece  of  the  great  Universe, 

Of  beauty  full,  and  fragrance,  for  thy  soul. 

I  know  no  pain,  no  hardship,  that  is  not 

A  joy  to  man,  a  life,  ay,  sweetest  life,  — 

When  it  gleams  through  him  that  God  lives  his  life 

And  he  lives  God's ;   that  all  is  seen  and  lived 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  345 

Gladly,  divinely,  by  the  spirit  of  God, 

Yea,  that  by  Him  all  was  divinely  made, 

That  all  's  divine],y  like  which  comes  from  God. 

Naught  hinders,  nay,  within  thee  and  around 

All  things  admonish  thee,  to  be  like  God, 

In  cloudless  contemplation  and  good  will. 

Himself  within  thee  summons  thee   to  know  Him ! 

If  He  has  power  equal  to  his  great  house, 

And  thou  hast  power  to  fill  thine  only,  that 

Is  a  relation,  but  no  difference  ; 

God  is  not  different,  not  distinct  from  man ; 

They  are  allied  together,  are  both  one ; 

Are  like  each  other  as  thousand  eyes  and  one, 

Like  as  this  light  here  of  thy  little  lamp 

Is  to  the  light  of  yonder  farthest  star! 

Thou  mayest  live  as  tranquilly  as  God, 

Who  watches  thee,  and  does  it  silently : 

Thou  mayest  die  as  tranquilly  as  God, 

Who  's  with  thee  then,  and  bears  it  silently. 


XXII. 

Accept  all  God's  Creatures  as  they  are. 

Pacing  the  garden  grounds,  thou  dost  not  wish 
Thy  almond-tree  might  be  a  cherry-tree, 
The  rose  a  jessamine,  the  vine  transformed 
Into  an  ivy-plant,  the  mignonette 
To  grass,  —  the  grass  in  turn  to  mignonette. 
Thou  art,  perforce,  more  modest;   dost  refrain 
From  using  magic,  for  thou  hast  it  not ; 
Thou  art  content  with  each  thing  as  it  is, 
Thou  givest  each  the  care  befitting  it, 
15* 


346  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Hopest  to  see  it  blossom,  waitest  for 

Its  fruit,  and  when  it  comes,  enjoyest  it, 

Each  in  its  several  way  refreshing  thee. 

The  lion  in  the  woods  thou  would'st  not  change, 

Nor  make  the  wolf  a  fox,  the  stag  a  hare  ; 

Nor  make  the  carp  that  swims  the  sea  an  eel, 

For  he,  too,  comes  what  time  thou  wishest  him. 

Thou  art,  perforce,  more  modest,  dost  refrain 

From  using  magic,  for  thou  hast  it  not. 

Only  around  thee  in  the  human  race 

Wilt  thou  work  miracles  and  first  transform 

Thy  neighbor,  so  as  then  to  deal  with  him, — 

To  deal  with  him,  the  utmost  thou  canst  do  ! 

To  do  without  him,  —  that  were  loss  and  shame! 

The  art  of  intercourse  is  not  to  shape 

Thy  fellow-men  anew  to  suit  thy  mind, 

Thy  wishes,  oftentimes  thy  very  whims. 

That  never  amateur  will  wish  to  do, 

Even  if  he  could  ;    his  only  pleasure  is 

To  show  in  life  his  artist's-taste  and  art, 

Intelligence,  —  and  love,  too, —lovingly ; 

Just  as  with  pictures  and  with  statuary, 

He  for  his  own  advantage  wisely  shuns 

To  change  the  light  their  master  placed  them  in. 

"God  is  a  Master,"  —  think  thou  tranquilly. 

Then  let  all  pass  for  good,  just  as  they  are, 

Else  hast  thou  foes  in  them  and  not  allies; 

Rejoice  in  what  is  good  of  them ;    hold  up 

This  good  upon  the  swift  stream  of  the  day 

And  of  all  days,  fulfil  the  words  they  speak, 

Just  as  a  friend  fulfils  a  drunken  man's  : 

Lay  underneath  their  works  a  noble  will ; 

Hold  converse  with  thy  old  familiar  friend, 


THE  LAYMAJSTS  BREVIARY.  347 

As  if  Saint  John  came  for  a  little  while 

To  visit  thee ;   speak  with  the  traveller 

As  an  old  friend  whom  thou  wilt  see  no  more,  — 

So  shalt  thou  shun,  methinks,  hard  words  and  blows  ! 

Yet  car'st  thou  not  for  hate  and  spite  of  men, 

And  holdest  thou  this  art,  perchance,  as  cheap  ? 

The  art  of  life  is,  sure,  the  highest  art ; 

Thou  liv'st  not,  if  thou  canst  not  live  with  others  ; 

Thou  liv'st  not,  if  they  cannot  live  with  thee  ; 

Ye  live  not,  save  with  reason  and  with  love, 

And  friendship  is  there  none,  without  this  art ; 

Nor  yet  society,  nor  marriage,  even, 

No  mother's  home,  no  mother  land,  no  peace^ 

Only  deception  and  half  war,  —  as  reigns 

Between  the  beasts  and  their  protector,  —  man ! 


XXIII. 
Seek  Goodness  not  Goods. 

Tell  me:    is  man  the  creature  of  an  hour? 

A  short,  bright,  pleasing  hour?     Is  man  no  more 

Than  just  a  splendid  firework  of  life, 

That  shoots  up,  smokes,  and  vanishes  in  night, 

In  sorrow's  and  starvation's  bitter  pangs  ? 

Nay,  is  he  good  for  naught  but  to  do  good  ? 

Most  men  strive  only,  all  the  days  of  youth, 

For  mere  bright-blazing,  short-lived  rapture,  found 

In  intercourse  with  men  and  things.     Behold 

Their  pains,  their  shifts,  their  penances  and  griefs! 

A  real  good  must  last  thee  all  thy  life, 

Always  remain  the  same  and  show  the  same, 

Beheld  at  evening,  morning,  late  in  age, 


348  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Contemplated  in  sorrow  and  in  joy. 
And  shall  I  name  to  thee  what  are  thy  goods? 
I  say,  then :    every  good !     I  leave  out  none : 
Gained  in  its  proper  season  and  enjoyed 
With  a  clear  eye  upon  the  whole  of  life ; 
No  one,  one  thing  whatever,  man  can  do, 
Is  sin,  that  to  the  future  can  be  linked, 
And  to  the  future  is  linked  honestly, 
So  that  he  feels  himself  melted  and  blent 
In  with  his  work  and  with  his  act,  and  lives 
Therewith  in  gladness  and  security. 
He  rightly  does,  who  treasures  up  life's  goods, 
Who  thereby  becomes  He,  a  proper  man. 
Not  so,  who  spends  himself  upon  the  goods, 
Alas !   he  ne'er  shall  find  himself  again, 
Never  possess  those  goods,  nor  yet  himself. 
For  only  they  possess,  who  rightly  earn. 


XXIV. 

A  pure  Youth,  —  a  happy  Manhood. 

If  thou  hast  dazzled,  as  a  child,  thine  eyes, 
Thou  'st  robbed  thyself  already  of  the  joy 
Of  seeing  wife,  child,  grandchild,  Of  thine  own. 
If  thou  hast  loved  this  maiden  here,  if  thou, 
As  with  a  wedded  wife,  hast  lived  with  her, 
And  then  hast  taken  another  to  thy  wife, 
Thou  hast  beforehand  broke  thy  marriage  vows, 
And  faithless  to  thyself,  hast  robbed  thyself 
Beforehand  of  the  one,  pure  sentiment, 
The  holy,  cleanly  one  of  human  life,  — 
The  joy  of  mingling  with  a  whole,  full  soul 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  349 

In  all  the  mother's  and  the  children's  joy, 

Never  disturbed  by  old,  dishonest  thoughts, 

That  in  life's  holy  feast  will  often  rise 

To  haunt  thy  soul  like  an  old  creditor, 

Who,  warning  thee  of  debts  thou  hast  not  paid. 

And  never  canst  pay,  still  tormenteth  thee 

And  never  will  let  go  his  hold  of  thee. 

Then  from  the  tree  of  life,  O  strike  not  off 

The  very  buds,  like  a  wild,  idle  boy ; 

Thou  strikest  off  the  blossoms  and  the  fruits ; 

Nor  ever  sin  thou  in  advance,  O  man, 

Against  the  child,  against  the  grain  of  seed  ; 

Thou  tramplest  on  the  harvest,  on  the  man  ! 

Do  not  the  tempting  thing,  the  pleasant  thing, 

The  thing  thou  lov'st,  —  not  the  right  thing  itself, 

At  a  false  hour,  for  what  thou  doest  so, 

Becomes  a  crime  against  futurity ; 

So  dost  thou  pawn,  yea,  sell  away  from  thee 

The  very  heaven  for  a  few  empty  nuts. 

The  genuine  right  is  but  the  future's  seed, 

A  flower  that  blooms  to  deck  the  wreath  of  life, 

Which  a  pure  soul,  perennially  glad, 

In  every  coming,  present  hour  shall  pluck 

To  set  it  in  the  place  it  fitly  fills. 

But  flowers  that  have  no  stalks,  —  and  such  are  sins, — 

These,  whoso  plucks  them,  scatters  to  the  winds. 


xxv. 

Woman  the  Judge  and  Mirror  of  the  Times. 

That  fishes  all  are  dumb,  provokes  thee  not  ? 
Nor  art  thou  vexed,  whatever  they  suppress  ! 


35° 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


If  women  talk,  —  that  is  their  nature  too, 

And  gladly  hear  whatever  they  reveal. 

Women  reveal,  no  doubt,  all  that  they  are,  — 

'T  is  the  great  revelation  of  mankind. 

Not,  how  they  bear  with  patience  what  they  must, 

No,  but  what  good  is  everywhere  to  be. 

History  itself  is  silent,  —  women  hold 

The  great  assize,  a  daily,  oral  one, 

Held  before  God,  in  house  and  yard  and  land  ; 

The  right,  pronounced,  is  right  once  recognized, 

It  is  fulfilled.     Right  is  the  heart  of  souls. 

Women,  then,  curious  about  everything, 

Specially  called  to  search  out  everything, 

—  Because  their  pent-up  life  requires  it, — 

They,  knowing  all  things,  summon  from  the  depths 

Of  man's  dark  bosom  to  the  light  of  day 

Things  just  and  unjust,  evil  things  and  good, 

And  judge  inexorably  all  mankind, 

All  of  the  male  kind,  kings  and  queens  they  judge, 

The  laws,  the  very  harvest  and  the  year. 

Each  lamb,  each  apple  in  the  gathering  time, 

And  hen  and  egg  and  feather,  all  are  judged, 

Each  new-born  child,  the  coffin  of  the  dead, 

The  dead  himself  and  even  death  itself, 

And  earth  and  life.     Inexorably,  too, 

They  judge  themselves,  —  but  only  one  another  ; 

That  each  may  thus  be  good.     For  all  the  joy 

And  weal  of  human  folk  on  women  hangs. 

And  even  to  God  't  is  gain,  that  they  are  wise. 

But  woman,  being  silent,  does  great  wrong. 

And  no  one  judges  better  than  a  wife, 

She  of  the  tenderest  feelings,  whose  fine  scales 

A  grain  of  dust  shall  move ;   whose  sensitive 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  ,c 

O  J 

And  shrinking  heart  is  with  light  deeds  weighed  down 

As  with  a  load,  and  guesses  and  adjusts 

All  with  a   motherly  presentiment 

Of  holy  Nature's  laws  and  ways  divine. 

For  Nature's  very  daughters  women  are, 

The  mother  who  has  sent  them  in  her  stead 

To  rule  and  manage  in  the  human  house : 

None  has  more  ground  than  woman  has,  to  judge, 

To  loose  and  bind.     For  all  that  heroes  do 

On  battle-fields,  whatever  conquerors 

Leave  undisturbed  in  peace,  whatever  seed 

Men  sow  in  council,  city,  land,  and  field, 

What  even  the  smallest  boy  is  set  to  do, 

That  in  the  house,  and  by  the  silent  hearth, 

Women  must  expiate,  if  't  was  ill  done, 

Burn  up  with  inward  fire,  just  as  the  flame 

Consumes  the  wax,  from  which  the  torch  was  rolled. 

So  burn  they,  shining  with  the  wax  of  life  ; 

And  in  a  woman's  bright  and  cheerful  face 

Thou  readest  that  good  times  are  in  the  land  ! 

Good  husband  and  good  children  in  the  house  ; 

Abundance  in  the  fields  ;    hope  of  good  years, 

And  industry  !    no  sick  folk  anywhere  ! 

No  naked  child  !   no  poor  that   pine  for  food  ! 

The  dial-plate  shows  only  sunny  hours, 

But  woman's  face  shows  the  whole  horoscope, 

And  that  not  of  the  outward  heavens  alone, 

But  the  position,  course,  and  flight  of  spirits, 

The  inner  one,  —  their  world,  —  the  moral  sky. — 

One  wish,  the  crown  of  wishes,  then  were  mine  : 

"  Might  every  female  countenance  on  earth, 

To  the  last  hovel  —  be  a  cheerful  one  : 

To  all  things  might  her  lips  but  whisper  :    Yes  !  " 

Then  were  the  golden  age  !     Be  that  thy  sign. 


352  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


XXVI. 

Man's  Mind  must  be  his  Kingdom. 

The  highest  goods  thou  must  —  insure  thyself,— 

Thou  must  beget  them  daily,  momently, 

From  thee  as  father  they  must  all  proceed  : 

Love,  goodness,  gladness,  happiness,  and  health  ; 

Yea,  and  the  word  holds  good  of  beauty,  too, 

And  freedom,  of  all  goods  foundation-stone. 

What  thou  art  not,  that  none  can  give  to  thee ! 

And  whatsoe'er  thou  art,  all  that  thou  hast, 

Of  that  none  will,  none  can  deprive  thee,  none  ! 

So  wilt  thou  oft  hear  foolish  men  crave  much,  — 

When  the  brave  word  has  long  been  teaching  them  : 

"Be  just  and  fear  not";  that  is  liberty. 

But  now  these  hard,  hard  questions  ask  thyself: 

Art  thou,  then,  well  in  body  and  in  soul  ? 

Art  thou  so  full  of  love  ?     Art  thou  so  good  ? 

Art  thou  so  fair  to  look  on,  and  so  free, 

That  thy  good  things  are  more  than  wish  and  want, 

Mere  fear  of  others  and  the  highest  fear, 

Fear  of  thyself  !     Fear  of  the  God  in  thee  : 

Purely  and  greatly  to  be  all  things  great  ! 

And  live  with  manly  vigor  through  and  through  ! 

That  task  still  frightens  hearts  that  hug  the  day. 

Men  speak  great  words  and  yet  live  petty  lives, 

Content  with  little,  —  even  as  children  are 

Who  love  to  give  their  dolls  high-sounding  names, 

And  keep  the  very  highest  for  themselves, 

Projecting  true  life  on  a  distant  scale. 

O  Lord,  when  thou  commandest,  there  they  stand  : 

The  spring-time,  man,  and  through  him,  all  good  things  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  353 

Whoso  owns  no  command,  —  he  is  a  slave, 
He  who  commands  himself  alone  is  free. 


XXVII. 
Earth  preaches  Generosity  to  Man. 

Each  forces  us  to  give,  magnanimously  ! 

What  treasures,  precious  and  irrevocable, 

We  needs  must  lavish  carelessly,  let  go, 

As  if  so  many  hairs  from  a  child's  head, 

Or  so  much  dust  blown  from  a  traveller's  cloak  ; 

And  man  will  laugh  and  call  his  neighbor  fool, 

If  he  laments  for  years  and  days  and  hours, 

For  youth  and  spring,  not  for  the  flowers,  O  no, 

But  only  for  the  autumn's  withered  leaves. 

For  here  he  must  needs  be  so  generous, 

As  he  is  farther  on  !     Possesses  more  ! 

But  now  on  all  that  earth  takes  not  from  him, 

That  from  which  one  day  she  takes  him  away, 

Upon  his  clod  of  earth,  on  which  he  dwells, 

Upon  the  trees  that  round  his  garden  stand, 

The  gold  he  clutches  and  the  very  bread 

Upon  his  table,  on  his  old  worn  spade,  — 

On  these  his  heart  is  set  !     He  watches  these 

With  jealous,  grasping,  avaricious  eyes, 

Because  he  thinks  :    Earth  did  not  give  me  these, 

No  ;   these  I  gave  myself !     These  mean  to  me 

My  skin  and  hair,  hand,  strength,  and  sun  and  moon, 

These  cost  me  all  my  thinking  and  my  heart, — 

These  are  the  little  fruits  of  the  great  mess  ! 

So  speaks  he  truth,  —  so  must  the  miser  speak; 

So  speak'st  thou  false,  —  man  must  no  miser  be, 

Earth  bids  us  calmly  be  magnanimous. 


354  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXVIII. 

The  Man  who  in  gaining  the  World  loses  Himself. 

He  who  in  battling  for  the  goods  of  life, 

Singes  a  hair  of 's  head,  contracts  a  mote 

In  's  eye,  a  stain  upon  his  soul,  perchance 

Scares  health  away  from  him,  —  the  drawer-up 

Of  gladness  out  of  the  long  stream  of  life,  — 

Is  like  the  child  who,  having  safely  borne 

A  basket  full  of  pearls  o'er  hollow  ground 

Through   woods,  where   robbers,  storms,    and    lightnings 

lurked,— 

Now  loses  them,  in  eager  quest  of  flowers  ; 
Is  like  the  man,  who  set  to  steer  a  ship, 
Freighted  with  jewels,  to  a  distant  port, 
Day  after  day,  for  an  amusement,  bores 
Through  the  ship's  bottom,  and  one  sunny  day 
With  ship  and  treasure  suddenly  goes  down. 


XXIX. 

Clearness  of  Perception  brings  Content. 

'T  is  true  thy  spirit  lives  a  wakeful  life, 
And  with  clear,  steadfast  eye  looks  down  on  all 
The  great  eternal  powers,  relations,  works 
Which  silently  encompass  thee  as  part, 
Thyself,  of  Nature's  elemental  powers, 
And  make  thy  life  the  image  of  a  vale, 
Shut  in  by  old,  mysterious,  quiet  rocks  ; 
And,  as  if  watching  clouds,  thou  givest  heed 
To  what  comes  up  to  thee  from  their  dark  lap  ; 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  355 

Thou  hearest  in  thy  breast  the  spirit's  voice, 

Thou  hearkenest  to  fulfil  its  lightest  whisper 

—  For  in  low  tones  the  heavenly  ones  do  speak,  — 

Thou  steppest  not  aside  through  heedlessness  ; 

For  just  where  human  weakness  needs  a  guide, 

These  troops  of  watchful  genii  fly  to  thee 

And  for  a  moment  fling  a  gleam  of  light 

Upon  thy  path.     And  so  thou  passest  by. 

Scarce  anything  can  meet  thee  unforeseen  ; 

Against  the  ill  that  threatens  from  afar, 

Or  passes  harmless  by,  thou  takest  thought 

For  help,  prevention,  yea,  and  even  cure  ; 

If  it  surprise  thee,  then  alarm  —  makes  bold. 

Nor  looking  into  life,  around  on  men, 

Does  aught  in  human  lot  seem  strange  to  thee, 

Thou  tremblest  not  at  parting,  sickness,  death  ; 

Calmly  thou  seest  how  the  gods  hold  sway  ! 

Yea,  if  the  earth  should  yawn  before  thy  feet, 

And  vomit  lightning,  thunder,  fire,  and  smoke, 

Quickly  would  that  strong  word  come  to  thy  aid  : 

"  This,  too,  have  men  already  suffered  once, 

And  stood  it  out,  —  long  have  they  been  at  rest, 

And  thou  thyself  hast  looked  upon  their  place." 

To  win,  to  find,  to  meet,  and  to  possess, 

Delights  thee  in  the  whirl  of  mortal  life, 

For  lo  !    they  win,  they  find  now  heavenly  things  : 

This  one  a  bride  !     That  mother  there  a  child  ! 

A  son,  a  wanderer  comes  back  home  again 

To  his  old  father !     Spare  this  human  trait : 

The  housewife's  batch  of  bread  has  turned  out  well  ! 

The  flax  has  prospered  !     The  old  orchard-tree 

Will  bear  once  more  whole  baskets  full  of  fruit ! 

The  children  are  for  winter  warmly  clad, 


3S6  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  first  wee  tooth  shines  in  the  infant's  mouth  ! 

Even  such  small  joys  thy  heart  can  understand, 

And  privily  thou  seekest  some  dark  nook, 

And  weepest  a  short  moment,  with  dry  eyes. 

So  liv'st  thou  glad  for  men  and  for  thyself. 

And  yet,  and  yet,  and  yet  thou  still  art  foolish, 

Unreasonable,  unwise,  unjust,  and  hard  : 

Impatiently  thou  chidest — the  impatience 

Of  men  and  women,  parents  and  their  children ! 

Punishest  wrath  with  wrath  !     Thou  seekest  peace 

Through  force,  through  war!   not  in  the  sure  mild  way. 

Then  go  and  learn  once  more  the  lore  of  life  ! 

Thou  'st  learned  it  ill  !    vainly  !   disgracefully  ! 

Thou  art  not  yet  so  good  as  the  blind  clog 

Who  barks  when  he  has  listened  earnestly, 

And  ceases,  when  he  knows  the  house-friend's  step, 

The  children's  ;    and  his  blind  eyes  sparkle  then, 

To  see  their  faces,  as  he  heard  their  feet! 


XXX. 

Sincerity. 

Sincerity  is  honesty  in  speech. 

The  soul  is  truthful,  that  is  full  of  truth, 

And  from  the  heart's  abundance  the  mouth  speaks.* 

Pass  not  the  very  dog  like  a  dumb  man  ; 

The  lamb  is  glad,  too,  when  thou  greetest  him, 

And  even  the  bird,  so  overjoyed  is  he 

With  human  greeting,  that  he  seems  like  one 

Intoxicated,  flying  from  his  trees 

*  In  German,  Redlichkeit  and  Reden  are  related.     The  verbal  turn  could  not 
be  retained  in  English.  —  TR. 


THE  LAYMAN^S  BREVIARY.  357 

This  way  and  that,  in  utter  ecstasy, 

Yet  as  not  knowing  what  to  make  of  it ! 

If  thou  say'st  nothing  to  the  erring  one,  — 

If  thou  say'st  nothing  to  the  suffering  one,  — 

Utterest  no  warning  to  the  foolish  one,  — 

Art  thou  sincere  ?     If  as  thou  passest  by, 

Thou  showest  not  the  children  how  their  game 

Was  fraudulently  played,  art  thou  sincere  ? 

Thou  seem'st  a  dumb  man  and  thou  art  a  dunce, 

Art  a  barbarian,  one  whom  pride  condemns 

To  wear  a  painful  padlock  on  his  lips, 

As  if  the  tongue  should  then  no  more  offend  ; 

It  is  unlovingness  offends,  not  speech, 

A  well-meant  word  even  the  old  man  hears, 

The  man  of  old  experience,  graciously. 

And  though  thou  knowest  e'er  so  little,  still 

Thou  knowest  in  this  case,  what  to  make  of  it ! 

The  lot  of  each  man  is  a  thing  divine  ! 

The  word  of  man  unveils  a  heaven  to  sight 

Whereof  earth  knows  not,  nor  the  very  sun  ! 

And  every  man  in  his  own  matter  speaks 

From  the  clear  heart-flow  unsurpassably, 

His  own  word  each  one  utters  perfectly  ; 

Even  where  he  stammers,  where  he  is  confused, 

He  shows  the  trulier  his  beating  heart ! 

Then  speak  !     Be  open  as  a  fountain  is, 

To  which  the  birds  at  pleasure  come  and  drink! 

Be  each  a  modest  priest  and  teacher,  friend 

And  kinsman  of  our  fair  humanity. 

Naught  more  confusing,  yea,  more  criminal, 

No  one  thing  in  the  affairs  of  human  kind, 

Than  haste  and  overhurrying  of  their  life,  — 

As  if  this  life  were  not  a  most  high  feast,  — 


358  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

As  if  each  day  were  not  a  special  feast,  — 

And  every  hour  the  acme  of  the  feast : 

Worthy  of  dignity,  repose,  and  grace, 

—  Which    change    e'en    things    of    naught   to   things   of 

weight,  — 

And  here  no  change  is  needed,  only  sense. 
But  thou,  dismiss  not  dryly,  coldly  thou 
The  holy  hours  !     O  dismiss  not  man 
With  mocking  coldness  !     Go  to  walk  with  each 
Even  at  the  moment  which  is  granted  him, 
Give  thyself  to  him  unreservedly, 
Hide,  hold  back  naught  from  him, — he  is  a  man, 
Lend  him  a  docile  ear,  —  thou  art  a  man,  — 
Thou  need'st  not  be  his  friend,  nor  he  thy  friend,  — 
Be  thou  but  man  to  him,  and  he  to  thee, 
So  shall  each  hour  become  to  thee  a  joy 
Of  life,  a  sweet  refreshment  to  thy  soul, 
A  recreation  and  a  wisdomVfount. 
Know  every  man,  and  let  each  man  know  thee, — 
And    therefore  —  speak  !      O    speak !    speech    melts    the 

breast, 

Inspires,  —  and  inspiration  worketh  love,  — 
Then  speak  !     Speech  only  shows  sincerity  ! 


XXXI. 

The  Yearning  to  see  our  Dead  ones  again. 

The  sun  shines  down  so  sweetly  through  the  vale, 
That  sleeps  in  autumn's  dreamy  quietness, 
The  leafless  trees  stand  there  so  quietly, 
The  clouds  above  are  quiet.     Children  play, 
Women  are  going  with  baskets  to  the  woods, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  359 

And  the  world  seems  an  old  acquaintance  now, 

Familiar,  —  as  the  hand  is  to  the  side, 

As  eye  and  body,  white  cloud  and  blue  heaven, — 

The  bells  are  humming  faintly  in  the  air! 

Yonder  a  train  of  men  bear  forth  one  dead,  — 

Earth-spirits  cry  from  trumpet  throats  of  brass, 

And  with  a  shriek  the  picture  rend  in  twain,  — 

Like  heavy  mist  the  dirge  falls  on  the  vale  !  * 

Like  night!     Or  comet's  glare  across  the  night. 

This  is  no  more  the  old  accustomed  earth, 

These  are  no  more  the  same  familiar  men 

Who  sing!     These  are  no  clouds  poised  overhead,— 

This  is  the  house  of  the  magician,  death, 

Wide  open,  full  of  naked  miracles, 

Which  living  men  look  on  with  shuddering  ! 

This  is  the  open  clock  of  the  universe, 

From  which  the  beings  strike  out  as  the  hours  ! 

This  is  the  laid-out  body  of  the  Lord, 

With  its  death-wound  forever  bare  to  sight !  .  .  .  . 

And  now,  soft-stealing  toward  the  open  grave, 

On  which  the  same  old  sun  shines  brightly  in, 

As  if  one  took  the  bridal-chamber  lamp 

And  hung  it  in  a  dismal  cavern's  gloom, — 

A  voice  of  sorrow  murmurs  in  my  ear  : 

"  Might  I  but  see  the  dead  one  yet  once  more  !  " 

And  startled  by  that  word,  I  turn  and  ask : 

Dear  soul,  I  pray,  which  dead  one  dost  thou  mean  ? 

The  dead  that  slumbers  in  the  coffin  here  ? 

Then  let  them  lift  for  thee  the  coffin-lid, 

And  look  thou,  then,  upon  the  dead  one  there  ! 

"No  —  no!     Not  him.     I  covered  him  myself." 

*  See  Mrs.  Hemans's  translation  of  Fouque"'s  dirge  for  the  Queen  of  Prus 
sia.  —  TR. 


360  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

What  then  ?     The  weary,  feeble,  blind  old  man 

In  his  last  sinking  years,  him  wilt  thou  see  ? 

"  No,  nor  yet  him  !     I  closed  his  aged  eyes  ! " 

Wilt  thou,  then,  see  the  dead  as  man  and  father, 

His  children  round  him  in  his  happy  home  ? 

"  Him  neither  ;    for  I  am  myself  his  son, 

His  friendly  form  stands  clear  before  my  sight." 

As  bridegroom  happy,  wilt  thou  see  him  then  ? 

As  youth  in  foreign  countries, — and  as  child? 

"  All  that  he  oft  has  told  us  lovingly, 

And  I  am  said  to  be  his  very  image, 

And  this  my  boy,  of  what  he  was  as  child  !  " 

Say  in  what  form  then  wouldst  thou  have  him  come! 

The  whole  of  him :    all  that  he  was  and  did,  — 

So  wilt  thou  have  him  ;    he  shall  live  again 

Or  he  shall  simply  live,  though  without  thee 

If  he  is  only  happy!     Thou  lov'st  him  so. 

I  say  to  thee  :    I  am  a  conjurer, 

And  if  thou  mak'st  a  definite  demand 

How  thou  wilt  have  me  bring  thee  back  the  dead, 

I  will  prepare  myself;   then  come  to  me, 

And  I  assure  thee  it  shall  be  fulfilled.— 

Meanwhile  the  dead  was  silently  interred 

And  each  withdrew  himself  "for  fitting  thought  —  " 

When  he  should  once  have  overcome  his  grief. 

Since  then  a  holy  year  has  now  passed  by, 
And,  smiling,  I  await  his  coming  back ! 


THE    LAYMAN'S    BREVIARY. 

NO  VEM BER. 


16 


NOVEMBER. 


I.  Treat  Man  according  to  his  Needs,  not  his  Deserts. 

II.  Father  and  Child  needful  to  each  other's  Manhood. 

III.  Nature  hurries  not  to  End  her  Work. 

IV.  Humanity  on  its  great  Voyage. 

V.  Live  a  wakeful,  not  a  dreamy  Life. 

VI.  Mother  Nature's  Autumn  and  the  human  Mother's. 

VII.  Farewell  to  the  immortal  Angels  of  Summer. 

VIII.  Childhood  charms  down  even  God. 

IX.  Contentment  lies  in  a  few  representative  Things. 

X.  The  Riches  of  the  Poor  in  Spirit. 

XL  The  immortal  little  People. 

XII.  Each  secure  in  the  great  Unity  of  Being. 

XIII.  God  is  All  in  All. 

XIV.  Magnify  thy  Being  as  Man. 
XV.  Live  and  love  as  God. 

XVI.  Not  a  free  Will  but  a  good  Will  Man  wants. 

XVII.  Power  is  Will  and  Will  is  Power. 

XVIII.  God  disposes  better  than  Man  proposes. 

XIX.  Be  not  a  Flaw-Finder  in  the  Universe  of  Beauty. 

XX.  Be  Good  and  so  do  Good. 

XXI.  Prayer  the  Transfiguration  of  Man. 

XXII.  Friendship  and  Philanthropy. 

XXIII.  Make  Account  of  Spirit,  not  Person. 

XXIV.  Contemplation  of  our  loved  Ones  asleep. 
XXV.  Man  hugs  his  selfish  Wishes  in  Death. 

XXVI.  Rest  even  in  this  fleeting  Life. 

XXVII.  What  is  Death  ? 

XXVIII.  What  can  Man  give  God  ? 

XXIX.  Love  abideth  forever. 

XXX.  The  great  future  Autumn  of  the  Heavens: 


NOVEMBER. 


Treat  Man  according  to  his  Needs}  not  his  Deserts. 

!O  him  whom  men,  fate,  or  the  elements 
Rob  of  his  peace,  thou  lendest  cheerful  aid, 
For  thou  hast  seen  how  such   things  come 

about, 
And   robbers,    sickness,    lightning,  —  all   are 

plain. 

But  whoso  through  unreason,  violence, 
Perverseness,  awkwardness,  an  evil  mind, 
Spoils  his  own  peace,  repels  thy  heart  from  him, 
Because  thou  seest  not  through  the  potent  cause, 
Because  thou  hatest  it,  thou  wilt  not  take 
Whate'er  is  done,  and  is,  as  an  event 
Of  the  interior  world,  the  former  world. 
But  who  now  is  the  more  unhappy  man, 
And  therefore  the  more  pitiable  too  : 
He  who,  through  care,  good  sense,  and  honesty, 
Forethought  and  human  help,  will  soon  rebuild 
His  house,  his  field,  and  his  prosperity, — 
Or  he  who,  radically  miserable 
Through  a  bad  mind,  the  web  of  his  old  days 
Tangled  and  snarled,  renounces  human  help. 
Respect  then  the  soul's  blight,  thou  happy  one, 
And  help  the  foolish  as  thou  wouldst  a  child  ! 
And  help  the  bad,  for  none  more  poor  than  they, 


364  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Help  !   else  art  thou  still  worse,  art  not  a  man  ; 
And  whoso  once  h?.d  ample  goods  and  now 
Begs,  —  give  to  him.  —  for  he  has  need  of  thee. 
For  to  the  man  to  whom  unstintingly 
God  gives  his  own  good  spirit,  wouldst  thou  then 
Not  give  a  morsel  of  the  bread  of  God  ? 
Man  carves  out  virtue  of  far  other  wood. 
O  might  the  helping  word  be  given  to  all 
Who  by  whole  tribes  suffer  for  darkened  souls, 
Entangled  in  the  sad  snare  of  old  time  ! 


n. 

Father  and  Child  needful  to  each  other's  Manhood. 

"  A  proper  father  let  me  be  and  grow, 

In  seeing  thee,  dear  child,  grow  up  to  be 

A  proper  man  !    without  thee  I  cannot 

Be  such  ;    nor  canst  thou  be  one  without  me." 

So  says  the  great  Creator  to  the  world, 

So  says  a  ruler  rightly  to  his  people, 

So  says  a  people  rightly  to  its  prince, 

So  says  a  father  rightly  to  his  son. 

in. 

Nature  hurries  not  to  end  her  Work. 

Be  not  impatient !     All  will  come  to  be, 
That  yearns  toward  being  in  thy  teeming  breast 
And  in  men's  hearts  !     All  yet  will  ripen,  all ! 
And  unexpectedly,  prepared  by  heaven, 
As  after  a  long  winter,  it  will  lie 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  365 

Before  thee,  as  upon  thy  table  lies 
The  flowering  stalk,  or  full-grown  ear  of  grain, 
Which  Nature  with  enormous  energies 
Drew  from  the  bosom  of  the  universe  ; 
A  heavier  treasure,  far,  more  exquisite, 
More  slowly  and  laboriously  wrought,— 
Thousands  of  years  secretly  spent  on  it,  — 
Than  by  the  miner  is  the  finished  gold, 
Which,  dug  from  rocky  shafts  not  far  to  reach, 
Where  in  stiff  veins  of  ore  the  metal  lay,  — 
Now  shines  before  thee  in  the  clear-cut  coin. 
O  what  innumerable  glorious  stars 
Shall  yet  arise  !     What  wilderness  of  suns  ! 
What  hosts  of  souls  teeming  with  energies 
Shall  yet  draw  nigh,  go  down,  and  still  create  ! 

—  And  shall  accomplish  mighty  wonders  here!  — 
The  welkin  could  not  hold  the  mass  of  flowers, 
The  magic  mountain  of  the  future  flowers, 

That  shall  one  day  be  scattered  down  like  rain 

Only  on  this  earth's  valleys  !     Verily, 

The  hosts  of  birds,  of  larks  and  nightingales, 

The  swarms  of  sweet  and  gracious  singers  all, 

That  yet  shall  flutter  down  as  from  the  blue 

Of  the  deep  heavens  above  and  warble  here,  — 

Would  darken  all  the  air  like  broad-winged  clouds  ! 

Shut  up  within  the  boundless  universe, 

They  still  approach,  but  only  secretly,  — 

Yet  all  shall  one  day  be,  yea,  truly  all ! 

—  As  all  who  ever  lived  and  labored  here, 
As  all  of  us,  us  who  now  work  here,  live. — 
O  what  impatience  well  might  seize  upon 
The  spirit  of  the  universe  !     And  yet 

How  still  he  bides,  in  tranquil  secrecy. 


366  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  well-springs  only  trickle  softly  forth, 

The  cloud  falls  earthward  only  drop  by  drop, 

The  mountains  wear  down  only  grain  by  grain,  — 

The  battle  of  the  Gods,  the  year's  great  fight, 

He  ends,  ere  sundown,  in  the  afternoon. 

He  fills  with  seeds  the  heads  of  all  the  flowers, 

But  for  the  coming  spring ;    they  fall  asleep 

Like  little  old  men,  and  their  silver  hair 

The  night  wind  snatches  from  them  as  in  dream  ! 

And  in  the  late  and  lovely  autumn  days 

He  only  forms  on  fruit-disburdened  trees 

The  new,  brown  buds  that  swell  in  secrecy, 

And  checks  their  haste  with  cool  of  moonlit  nights, 

And  wraps  them  round  with  veils  of  silver  mist. 

Like  little  children  whom  a  mother's  care 

Screens  from  the  light,  that  they  may  still  sleep  on. 

Then  moderate  impatience  !     In  its  guise 

Discern  the  noble  yearning  to  fulfil 

With  the  presentiment  of  perfect  life 

The  task  the  master  gives  thee  for  to-day ! 


IV. 

Humanity  on  its  great  Voyage. 

Each  one  has  still  as  far  to  go,  as  once 
Columbus  had,  to  reach  America. 
Only  to-day  the  company  on  board 
Demand  not  islands  of  the  mariners, 
Taverns  upon  the  sea,  and  a  short  way,  — 
Only  good  passage  in  well-furnished  ship, 
And  not  a  blockhead,  nor  still,  stealthy  foe, 
For  steersman.     Burdens  unavoidable 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  367 

And  hardships,  each  one  gladly  bears  as  means, 

Yea,  furtherers  of  his  voyage  to  success. 

Thus  is  the  clear  conviction  of  mankind : 

That  a  long-cherished  and  deep-seated  wish 

Was  a  fine  error,  through  a  thousand  fights 

Only  to  be  fulfilled  conditionally  — 

The  evidence :  that  many  a  fancied  ill, 

Explained,  is  parcel  of  their  better  life ; 

This,  too,  is  an  unutterable  gain 

To  men,  for  peace  and  comfort,  joy  and  luck : 

With  mind  serene,  with  powers  made  strong  in  one, 

To  win  by  glorious  conquest  what  abides 

Like  stars,  when  northern  lights  fade  silently: 

Freedom,  to  be,  in  soul  and  body,  man  ! 


v. 
Live  a  wakeful,  not  a  dreamy  Life, 

The  fancy  has  its  own  peculiar  woes, 

From  which  reality  protects  us  not. 

When  in  our  dreams  we  walk  on  piercing  thorns, 

It  helps  us  nothing  :  that  we  sleep  in  shoes  ! 

And  when  thou  walk'st  on  roses  in  thy  dreams, 

Thou  heedest  not  the  snake  approaching  thee. 

Only  the  waking  ones  can  God  release 

From  the  night-horror  of  old,  heavy  dreams ; 

How  mankind  wrestles  to  be  wide  awake  ! 

The  genuine  day  is  worth  thy  living  in ; 

Truth  is  the  most  divine  of  poems,  full 

Of  magic,  depth,  pomp,  beauty,  as  none  else. 

Be  always  wakeful,  then  !     Let  neither  woe 

Oppress,  nor  joy  beguile  thee,  into  sleep  ! 


368  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

For  the  pure  sense  of  the  true,  great,  whole  life 
More  precious  is  than  even  thy  greatest  luck. 


VI. 

Mother  Nature's  Autumn  and  the  human  Mothers. 

Like  to  a  mother,  who  has  just  let  go, 

New-married,  her  last  daughter  from  the  house, 

And  for  the  first  time  since  her  wedding  day, 

Long  years  ago,  sits  down  to  rest  again, 

At  last,  at  last,  her  life's  work  being  done,  — 

So  now  in  Autumn  mother  Nature  takes 

Rest  from  the  labors  of  so  great  a  work. 

Thousands  of  little  daughters,  tender  flowers, 

She  also  has  arrayed  successively 

In  that  fair  raiment  made  for  life-long  wear 

Each  morning,  and  before  they  went  to  sleep 

At  night,  has  washed  with  dew  each  lovely  face, 

When  they  grew  up,  has  richly  furnished  forth, 

In  radiant  nights,  beneath  a  silvery  moon, 

All  silently  for  each  a  nuptial  hour, 

Then  taken  part  in  all  the  children's  work ; 

Transformed  the  blossom-tree  into  a  fruit-tree, 

Encircled  it  with  grandchildren  —  as  fruits; 

Let  the  snake  hatch  her  eggs  out  in  the  sun 

Till  she  could  lead  her  children  by  herself, 

Woven  her  year's  dress  for  her,  gay  and  new ; 

Painted  the  butterfly  with  blossom-dust, 

Filled  the  vine-berry's  cellar  full  of  musk, 

Traced  the  bean's  delicate  tints  in  its  still  house, 

Forgotten  on  the  weevil  not  a  spot, 

Nor  smallest  stroke  on  the  dumb  little  fish. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  369 

And  all  her  creatures  bright  and  glad  as  ever  ! 

In  air  and  sea,  in  woodland  and  in  field, 

No  one  has  asked,  and  each  one  has  received ! 

O  joy  of  the  Great  Mother  of  us  all ! 

And  now  to  enter  into  her  glad  soul, 

Into  her  love's  gracefully  prospered  work, 

What  other  rapture  is  there  passing  that  ? 

How  shrinks  to  nothing  what  her  great  child,  man, 

Has  done  in  all  the  circle  of  the  earth  ; 

For  though  unique,  yet  is  he  but  one  child  — 

Of  the  blest  mother  of  whole  myriads. 

However  many  children  Nature  has, 

Yet  none,  not  even  man,  has  other  work 

Than  to  behold  her  work,  and  being  it, 

Sweetly  to  search  it  out,  —  that  all  have  done*! 

They  were  !    And  full  of  bliss  they  passed  away  ; 

And  over  all  and  after  all  still  sits 

The  youthful  mother  unexhausted  there. 

But  she,  the  human  mother,  whose  last  child 

And  youngest  I  have  taken  to  be  my  wife, 

Sits  lonely  there,  looks  after  us  and  weeps, 

She  looks  upon  her  weary,  worn  old  hands, 

And  even  while  she  looks,  her  form  is  changed  ! 

She  's  gone;  she  sitteth  in  the  house  of  age, 

Above  her  the  eternal  blue  of  heaven  ; 

She  bends  down  in  her  hand  admiringly 

The  fruit-tree's  leafless  twig  that  glistens  there 

Full  of  brown  buds,  that  shall,  another  spring, 

Bloom  and  bear  fruit     But  she  !    alas,  no  more ! 

"  Man  is  a  bud  upon  the  tree  of  life  "  : 

She,  softly  weeping,  softly  smiling,  thinks. 

Meanwhile  around  her  swarm  the  year's  late  gnats, 

Quick,  quick  !  they  seem  to  say,  we  yet  will  live  ! 

16*  x 


370  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

She  sits  by  flowers,  —  quick,  quick,  ere  winter  comes, 

Will  they,  too,  celebrate  late  nuptial  rites, 

And  the  full  moon  goes  up  in  majesty, 

To  shine  as  lamp  in  Autumn's  lonely  hall. 

Only  the  stream  still  murmurs  as  it  did 

In  the  old  legend  childhood  held  for  true, 

And  clouds  sail  by  as  in  the  old  legend,  too. 

Yon  moon  means  nothing  any  more  to  her, 

The  autumn  wind  that  finds  no  more  a  crop, 

Scarcely  a  leaf,  plays  idly  with  her  hair. 

The  calm  is  heavy  to  her  busy  heart  — 

She  rises  now,  she  sees  a  cluster  yet 

On  the  vine-trellis,  feels  a  silent  joy, 

Looks  round  in  silence  on  the  heavens  once  more  — 

And  on  the  earth  —  and  now  goes  slowly  back 

With  head  bowed  down,  home  to  the  empty  house. 

Such  is  the  fate  of  man,  —  the  mother's,  too  ! 


VII. 

Farewell  to  the  immortal  Angels  of  Summer. 

So  then,  farewell,  ye  blessed  ones  !  farewell, 

Ye  who  enlivened,  filled,  adorned  this  house, 

WTere  blest,  and  made  all  round  you  blest,  with  love 

And  beauty,  laden  full  with  primal  power, 

Ye  hosts,  that  with  the  autumn  pass  away! 

'T  is  I  that  part  —  not  you ;  for  I  remain, 

Remain  alone,  and  you  go  off  in  troops, 

A  godlike  march  of  triumph  home  to  God  ; 

The  flames  returning  to  the  ancient  fire. 

Ye  did  not  make  the  Spring,  ye  were  the  Spring, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  371 

Yourselves  !     'T  was  you,  at  last,  that  made  the  summer 

True  summer,  the  autumn  yore;   filled  out 

The  holy  time.     Ye  go  now,  and  't  is  filled 

And  sweetly  filled,  in  myriads  of  hearts 

That  will  retain  fond  memory  of  you  all, 

So  long  as  they  have  memory  of  the  earth 

And  of  themselves, — so  long  as  they  are  minds. 

For  therefore  was  the  feast  divine  ordained, 

And  being  well  ordered  has  succeeded  well, 

And  full  of  joy  the  ancient  heaven  laughs  out. 

For  you  accomplished  is  the  greatest  wish  : 

You  cannot  lose  henceforward  life  nor  love, 

Nor  power,  nor  spirit,  nor  the  universe  ; 

That  which  you  have,  you  are  !     Inalienable 

Is  your  possession,  having  what  you  are  : 

Being,  —  your  being,  therefore,  aye,  yourselves  I 

So  farewell,  then,  ye  blessed  ones !   farewell, 

To  meet  again  all  through  the  universe  ! 

To  know  and  to  be  known,  as  love  knows  love, 

Just  as  the  gold-finer  knows  gold  by  gold  ; 

But  I  am  what  ONE  is  in  the  universe, 

And  what  the  universe  is  in  One  and  all ; 

That  have  I,  and  that  all  have  equally  ; 

Hence  is  it  called  the  ALL,  the  "ALL  to  ALL." 


VIII. 

Childhood  charms  down  even  God. 

How  sweetly  does  the  little  child  forget 
His  origin  !     Only  instinctively 
He  still  stares  upward  in  a  wandering  maze 
At  the  blue  heavens  with  unexploring  glance 


372  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Until  his  mother  kindly  speaks  to  him 

So  tenderly,  that  now  for  the  first  time 

He  wakes  to  thought,  he  hears  the  human  voice, 

Looks  up  at  her  with  slowly  studying  eyes 

And  knows  her,  gazing  on  the  holy  face  ! 

And  his  first  little  tear-drop  timidly 

Steals  up  into  the  eye  of  heavenly  blue  ! 

His  little  lip  trembles  as  if  with  age, 

The  little  heart  beats  with  a  holy  awe 

At  such  a  wonder,  fills  and  overflows  ! 

His  breath  stands  still,  his  sight  grows   dim  and  fails; 

And  as  for  help  his  little  mouth  cries  out, 

When  he  with  human  beings  finds  himself; 

And  yet  with  human  beings,  after  all ; 

For  on  his  mother  now  his  glad  head  rests. 

Such  are  the  child's  ways,  hast  thou  heeded  them  ? 

Then  hast  thou  certainly  and  deeply  felt : 
«  To  look  on  the  old  dust,  th'  old  human  face, 
On  the  old  love  and  the  old  life  once  more, 
So  new,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  and  dear, 
And  clothed  in  such  heart-thrilling  loveliness, 
To  see  again  and  love  it  everywhere,— 
May  well  persuade  the  very  spirit  of  Heaven 
To  appear  as  little  child,  upon  the  earth, 
And  vanish  in  the  grave  as  blind  old  man,  — 
Else  would  he  never  fill  a  mother's  lap  ! 
Never  the  little  nest  of  any  lark  ! 
Nor  the  poor  chalice  of  a  single  flower ! ' 
That  is  the  witness  of  the  zeal  of  love. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  373 

IX. 

Contentment  lies  in  a  few  representative  Things. 

For  earth's  acquaintance  has  the  poorest  man 

Enough :    wife,  child,  a  house,  and  human  lot ; 

More  comes  of  evil ;   as  a  witness  take 

The  rich  who  has  too  much.     Too  much  is  less, 

Is  little,  naught,  deadly,  detestable ; 

Two  suns  reduce  all  colors  to  a  blank, 

Two  suns  would  make  one  blind.     Two  lovely  women 

At  once  annihilate  love,  annihilate 

The  wife,  all  home  affection.     Ten  best  women 

Are  not  a  single  wife  to  the  one  man. 

Not  from  a  hundred  women  could'st  thou  learn 

With  one  to  be  acquainted  ;  only  one, 

Thine  own,  can  make  thee  rightly  know  the  wife, 

The  hand,  the  lamb,  the  dog,  the  human  heart, 

The  proper  body,  even  the  proper  life  ; 

Life-long  must  thou  be  learning  life-long  things  : 

The  wife's  life-long,  unbroken,  tireless 

Fidelity,  her  undivided  love. 

Divided  love  the  sister  is  of  hate, 

Nay  worse  :   it  is   indifference,  selfishness, 

'T  is  idle  lustfulness,  love's  suicide, 

The  cataract  of  men  with  beauty  drunk, 

The  double  sight  of  the  disordered  mind, 

'T  is  the  child's  fishing  for  the  moon  in  water, 

The  proper  self-damnation  and  the  sorest, 

'T  is  the  worst  evil :    poverty  of  love, 

And  impotence.     No  single  work  of  God 

So  fair,  so  good,  so  lovely  can  be  found, 

That  thou  would'st  not  do  with  it  as  a  child 


374  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Does  with  the  rose  he  finds  upon  the  street, 

Scarce  picks  it  up,  and  throws  it  down  again. 

Yet  is  each  one  of  them  a  masterpiece 

Of  the  great  master,  full  of  all  the  pith 

And  charmed  life  of  his  entire  art. 

One  starling,  coral,  violet,  clover-leaf, 

Differs  but  little  from  the  multitude. 

From  each  thou  learn'st  the  nature  of  the  whole, 

That  which  thou  learn'st  from  many  is  the  power 

Called  art ;    skill,  science,  knowledge  of  the  earth. 

Yet  art  and  science  are  not  very  life.  — 

'T  is  only  on  the  spot  that  thou  canst  learn 

What  spring  is  ;  if  thou  travellest  away 

To  search  it  out  more  perfectly,  thou  falPst 

This  way  on  snow,  and  that  on  scorching  heat. 

A  single  flower  before  the  poor  man's  house, 

His  apple-tree,  his  vine,  his  cherry-tree, 

Is  of  itself  a  heaven-taught  weather-man, 

That  points  him  out  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  Winter ; 

He  sees  no  more  than  that  on  thousand  trees  ! 

Sees  nothing,  if  he  sees  it  not  in  one, 

And  sees  but  tokens  of  this  universe, 

Never  itself,  nor  yet  its  very  beings. 

For  Youth  and  Age,  and  Life  and  Death,  and  Love,  — 

Nay  man  himself,  through  his  whole  term  of  years,  — 

Are  viewless  as  the  light,  never  appear 

Themselves  ;    existence  is  their  taking  note, 

Perceiving,  and  rapt  wondering,  no  more,  — 

And  with  these  treasures  man,  like  one  who  bears 

A  little  roll  of  pictures,  disappears. 

A  little  patch  of  sand,  a  little  wand, 

A  mere  forefinger,  —  and  thou  tracest,  learnest 

The  path  of  constellations,  and  the  forms 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


375 


Of  all  things.     That,  by  which  thou  wouldst  be  taught, 

Must  thou  create  and  shape  and  educate, 

Whate'er  it  be,  thy  children  or  thy  wife  ; 

Must  train  thy  friend  himself,  even  as  thou  dost 

The  fruit-tree  ;    and  beneath  thy  human  hand, 

Illumined  by  the  human  spirit's  light, 

All  becomes  human  to  thee,  nay,  divine, 

Precious  and  dear  to  thee,  and  thy  heart's  own,  — 

To  others  useless,  troublesome,  destructive, 

As  that  which  others  train  up  for  themselves 

Eludes  thy  effort  to  appropriate. 

Look  now  on  the  much  pitied  poor  and  say, 

If  thou  canst  really  still  call  them  poor  ! 

The  way  of  earth  leads  not  to  wealth  of  gold  ! 

In  nature's  course  it  leads  sublimely  safe 

To  wealth  of  soul,  the  feeling  of  the  whole, 

With  the  few  goods  man  needs  to  live  withal 

In  freedom  his  beloved  and  beauteous  life. 

The  poor  man  must  create  life  for  himself, 

Then  is  it  life,  't  is  a  possessor's  grasp  ! 

A  slippery  hold,  and  spendthrift's  squandering 

'T  is  to  the  rich,  fancy's  grandee,  the  proud 

And  discontented.     Wheresoe'er  thine  eyes 

Behold  contentment,  think :    here  dwells  one  poor 

In  goods,  but  rich  in  the  true  joys  of  life, 

Having  a  cottage,  wife,  and  children  there, 

An  orchard  tree  or  two,  —  and  ah,  withal, 

Upon  his  window-sill  a  little  flower. 


376  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


The  Riches  of  the  Poor  in  Spirit. 

The  mind  that  is  wide  open,  wide  awake, 

Is  poor  on  earth,  yea,  poorer  than  a  child  ; 

For  all  the  things  it  knows  and  sees  and  loves, 

How  will  it,  can  it,  cares  it  to  possess  ! 

And  like  the  sun  it  rides  serene  in  heaven 

Surveying  all  indeed,  but  craving  naught 

Save  its  own  light  and  heat,  and,  round  about, 

A  world  to  fling  a  glad  reflection  back  ; 

And  a  life's  destiny  to  rule  over. 

This  is  the  mind  called  truly  poor  in  spirit, 

Not  poor  of  spirit,  love,  large  luminous  vision. 

Then  tremble  not,  dear  soul  !  but  know  thou  this  : 

The  more  things  leave  thee,  the  more  heavenly  — 

In  compensation  —  they  appear  to  thee  ! 

The  purelier,  therefore,  thou  becomest  man  ! 


XI. 
The  immortal  little  People. 

There  is  a  human  folk,  forever  small, 
Living  like  jinns  among  and  by  themselves, 
Unspeakably  happy,  knowing  naught  of  death, 
Nothing  of  care,  of  labor,  and  of  toil ; 
That  never  had  a  loss,  but  still  new  gains; 
To  whom,  day,  night,  all  seasons  of  the  year 
Are  but  one  time,  nay  one  eternity, 
The  moving  world  a  stationary  house, 
A  hall  of  gods  for  naught  but  love  and  joy,  — 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  377 

There  lives  of  children  an  immortal  people, 

That  keeps  its  ranks  forever  new  and  full, 

As  often  as,  by  constant  living  death, 

It  disappears  in  maiden  and  in  youth, 

As  blossoms,  swelling  into  fruits,  are  gone. 

So  faithfully  does  blessed  Nature  bide 

Constant  in  her  divine  appearances  ! 

The  buds  never  die  out  upon  the  tree, 

The  lightnings  never  die  out  in  the  sky, 

But  in  their  realm  become  a  standing  light, 

Just  as  the  sun  is  a  returning  light 

In  Heaven,  wherein  he  daily  celebrates 

His  holy  transubstantiation,  making 

By  magic  beings  out  of  elements  ; 

He  holds  each  splendid  transformation  fast, 

Repeats  and  varies  it  in  ceaseless  ways 

With  skill  conspicuously  inscrutable, 

And  every  transit  is  a  standing  work, 

The  changes  and  the  fullings  of  the  moon, 

Spring's  rustling,  and  the  flare  of  northern  lights, 

Migrating  swallow,  and  arriving  lark. 

So  also  lives  to  Earth  the  children-folk 

Of  man,   forever  shouting  out  with  joy, 

Loving  to  parents  and  to  parents  dear. 

And  if,  thou  care-worn,  sorrow-sated  man, 

If  thou,  poor  man,  thou  weary  lone  old  man, 

Canst  no  more  comprehend,    Why  life  exists  ? 

Why  God  exists  ?  and  why  he  never  stays 

His  restless  energy,  by  slow  degrees 

Letting  the  stream  run  out  and  dry  away  ; 

Why,  then,  God  does  not  die,  and  so  at  last 

Himself  have  rest  and  peace  and  be  deep  peace 

And  rest  and  stillness  imperturbable  ; 


378  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Why,  for  the  first  time,  then,  in  hoary  eld, 

He  made  the  tear-stained,  blood-besprinkled  earth, 

The  long-lamented,  tear-distilling  stars, — 

Like  golden  flowers  taking  root  in  water,  — 

Coagulate  in  the  ethereal  sea, 

And  drew  them  forth  into  the  light,  to  bloom, 

And  after  blooming-time  to  fade  away 

And  sink  dissolved  in  the  vast  sea  of  force,  — 

Look  at  the  little  tribe  of  children  then  ! 

Mark,  only,  one  child's  pleasure  in  the  snow, 

When  the  white  flurry  thickens  all  the  heavens  ! 

Note  how  his  eyes  will  sparkle  with  delight 

At  the  first  snow-drop  !     How  he  gazes  down, 

Trembling  with  joy,  when,  kneeling  in  the  grain, 

He  spies  the  lark's  nest  with  its  little  ones. 

Then  wilt  thou  comprehend  full  easily 

The  great  first  Father,  the  child-loving  one! 


XII. 

Each  secure  in  the  great  Unity  of  Being. 

Each  being,  thinkest  thou,  is  what  it  is, 

For  itself  only  ;   for  himself  alone 

The  man  a  man  ;    the  woman  for  herself 

Alone  a  woman  ;  and  the  child  a  child  ; 

So  tree  and  stone  and  sun,  fire,  air,  and  water. 

But  lo  !   the  very  spirit,  the  rock  itself, 

Is  not  a  being  for  itself  alone  : 

All  that,  —  and  be  it  little,  be  it  much, — 

Whereby  another  thing  exists,  subsists, 

Belongs  to  it ;  yea,  whatsoe'er  man  needs 

That  he  may  be  ;  may  grow  to  a  whole  man, 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY.  379 

More  than  belongs  to  him, — it  constitutes  him, 

And  he  again  is  mystically  it. 

Thus  man  is  also  wife,  yea,  wife  and  child ; 

The  wife  is  man,  the  child  is  father,  mother  ; 

Man  is  at  once  people  and  land,  the  sun 

Is  earth  and  moon  and  flower  :  the  very  flower 

Is  earth  and  moon  and  sun,  and  even  man  ; 

Man  is  both  nature,  too,  and  God  ;   and  God 

Is  child,  no  less,  the  sun,  and  nature's  self. 

My  child,  my  darling  child,  the  whole  life-blood 

Of  the  great  world  comes  only  from  one  heart, 

And  all  goes  back  to  that  one  heart  again, 

And  every  single  drop  needs  all  the  rest, 

And  all  the  drops  need  every  single  one,  — 

Nature  is  only  one  great  heart  of  God. 

—  Without  all  things,  which  are  not  thou,  nor  thine, 

Is  yet  no  life,  no  joy  and  even  no  grief, 

That  clearly  understand  ;   nay,  even  thy  way  to  do 

Is  all  blocked  up,  virtue  is  clogged  and  lamed  ; 

The  pleasant  game  of  life  is  out,  for  thee 

It  never  has  begun.  —  Resign  thyself 

To  Nature,  all  her  beauty  and  her  love, 

With  beauteous  life  will  she  compensate  thee  ! 

The  freest,  fairest  property,  the  holiest 

Possession  of  the  lovingly  possessed, 

Is  to  belong  to  others  !     For  all  tears 

And  woes,  for  all  the  joys  he  finds  in  her, 

And  for  his  love  to  her,  Nature  gives  man 

All  that  she  has  most  glorious,  —  herself! 

All,  therefore,  that  belongs  to  her  is  thine, 

All  that  she  is  and  all  that  others  are. 

Look  upon  all,  as  if  't  were  only  thine, 

As  if  the  care  of  it  were  laid  on  thee  ; 


380  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  where  the  deed  can  not  reach,  there,  be  sure 

Love  can.     Thou  never  more  canst  lose  the  thing 

Thou  once  hast  loved,  more  than  thy  love  itself. 

No  God,  no  man,  takes  the  least  thing  from  thee  ; 

And  if  what  was  thy  love,  becomes  to  thee 

Invisible,  sinks  and  is  swallowed  up 

In  Nature's  holy  deep,  —  then  wilt  thou  not 

Find  fault  with  God,  who  on  the  heavenly  road 

Of  Nature  has  promoted  it ;    nor  yet 

Wilt  thou  accuse  men,  flowers,  sun,  moon,  and  stars 

Of  base  desertion,  nor  have  God  himself 

For  an  enormous,  frightful  giant-foe,  — 

For  none  but  He  could  ever  injure  thee  ! 

But  verily,  —  He  ne'er  has  done  thee  harm, 

So  thou  hast  not  been  harmed  by  any  one, 

And  ever  blest  thy  spirit  bides,  —  like  His  ! 


XIII. 

» 

Godis  Allin  All. 

Naught  is  but  God,  and  without  Him  is  naught ! 
He  is  alone  ;   and  all  comes  forth  from  Him 
That  comes  ;   what  goes,  goes  back  into  Himself, 
And  was  not  a  breath's  distance  off  from  Him. 
And  has  He  changed  His  substance  into  dust 
To  lift  that  dust  up  to  Himself  again, 
And,  like  a  snow-ball,  rolling  it  through  time, 
Make  it  at  last  as  great  as  His  own  self? 
How  could  there  be  a  bridge  to  lead  to  God  ? 
And  where  could  one  be  found  to  tread  it,  —  where? 
And  if  one  could,  how  should  he  cross  to  Him  ? 
How  could  there  be  a  ladder  made  of  beings  ? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  381 

Then  must  there  have  been  one,  so  long  ago, 

By  three  miles  smaller  than  the  universe  ; 

Then  must  there  surely  have  been  one,  long  since, 

Only  three  days  short  of  eternity, 

Three-lions-weaker  than  the  only-strong. — 

Just  as,  from  the  enormous  vaulted  roof 

Of  the  majestic  stalactitic  cave, 

The  countless,  ceaseless  stony  drops  rain  down 

And  with  their  silver-voices  sing  below, 

So  beams  and  gleams  and  flashes,  streams  and  roars, 

Down  out  of  all  the  heavens,  He  who  is  all, 

Becomes  all,  is  all,  and  continues  all, 

And  yet  is  naught  but  He.     Naught  is  but  God, 

Naught  is  but  He.     Hallowed  be  his  name  ! 

He  is  the  Universe.     No  single  thing 

Is  all ;    the  Rose  is  not  the  Sun,  nor  man 

The  violet,  nor  the  infant  the  old  man ; 

Yet  side  by  side  with  one  another,  all, 

Multitudes,  —  multitudes,  —  uncountable, 

All  side  by  side  together  are  divine, 

The  dust  upon  the  wings  of  butterflies, 

The  purple  sapling,  the  carnation-leaf, 

The  golden  streak  still  left  on  the  dead  shell, 

The  very  point  in  the  egg, — the  chicken's  eye  ! 

The  thing  that  cannot  name  Him,  knows  Him  well 

In  the  heart-oenetrating  mystic  thrill, 

In  deepest  awe,  —  in  being's  holiest  hush. 

Naught  is  but  God  ;   in  Him  is  all  alike,  — 

Sand-grain  and  star,  —  hallowed  be  His  name ! 


382  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XIV. 
Magnify  thy  Being  as  Man. 

How  bold  is  man,  forsooth,  —  to  be  so  small ! 

How  arrogant,  to  be  so  stupidly 

Modest,  as  to  accept  from  men  :   name,  purpose, 

Rank,  standing,  honor,  and  a  different  good, 

A  different  humanity,  —  at  the  hands 

Of  human  folly,  human  lot  and  need,  — 

From  that  which,  loudly  and  majestically 

High  Heaven  with  silent  eloquence  proclaims, 

When  to  the  father's  eye  and  heart  it  speaks 

In  the  divine  appearing  of  a  child, 

And  says :    "  Give  ear,  to  thee  a  child  is  born, 

A  man,  a  lofty  spirit  of  the  ether, 

The  world,  the  eld, — yea,  an  eternal  son, — 

Eternal  father,  too,  —  is  born  to  thee!" 

And  see,  no  creature  creeps  into  a  mask, 

So  as  to  make  himself  less  than  he  is  ; 

The  lion  hides  not  in  the  ass's  skin, 

The  ass  lets  not  himself  be  called  a  dog, 

The  dog  a  mole,  no,  nor  the  mole  a  mouse  ; 

They  prize  instinctively  their  native  worth, 

Nor  suffer  human  names  to  change  their  life, 

Because  they  know  how  they  are  called  with  God. 

But  men,  men  only,  creep  into  the  masks 

Of  stupid  earthly  show,  put  on  the  old  coats 

Of  dull  old  servants  in  the  dull  old  times, 

And  hotly  wrestle  to  degrade  themselves 

In  wearing  all  mean  under-names  of  man, 

Bestowed  by  fashion's  fawning,  flattering  slaves  ; 

But  never  once  the  one  true  name  of  "  man." 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  383 

Then  wilt  thou  be,  never  pretend  to  be, 

And  wouldst  thou  last,  be  nothing  — but  a  man. 

The  goose  is  more  in  her  goose-dignity, 

Than  a  vain  woman  who  believes  herself 

Only  the  lady  of  a  Mandarin  ; 

The  cock  is  more  in  his  cock-dignity 

Than  yonder  man,  made  blind  with  pride,  who  says  : 

Behold,  behold,  behold,  a  Priest  of  Fo ! 


xv. 
Live  and  love  as  God. 

Since,  then,  God's  spirit  lives  in  thee,  as  thou, 
Art  thou,  O  man,  henceforward  rid  of  God, 
Of  godly  work,  life,  vision,  feeling,  thought? 
Frightfully  free  art  thou  ?     Cut  loose  from  God  ? 
Without  God,  now  that  thou  hast  God  within? 
Must  arrogance,  vain-glorying,  unbelief, 
Presumption,  fill  thee,  and  the  carnal  mind  ? 
Art  thou,  henceforth,  released  from  goodness,  then  ? 
What  ?  .  .  .  .  Hast  thou  not  in  virtue  of  partaking 
God's  being,  taken  it  upon  thee  now 
Right  specially  to  do  the  works  of  God ! 
More  by  this  knowledge  hast  thou  pledged  thyself 
To  what  is  good,  than  by  a  thousand  oaths  ! 
For  thee,  henceforth,  is  meant  that  noblest  word: 
What  God  would  not  do,  do  thou  not,  O  man ! 
And  all  that  God  would,  that  do  also  thou. 
Out  of  a  consciousness  of  God  alone 
Comes  godly  living.     From  the  heart  of  God 
Alone  love  wells,  a  pure,  perennial  sense 
And  blessed  vision  of  the  Universe 


384  THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 

And  every  smallest  being  it  contains  :  — 

Thou  must  love  each  of  them  as  God  would  do,  .  . 

Thou  must  help  each  of  them,  as  God  would  do,  . 

Must  honor  each  of  them,  as  God  would  do,  .... 

The  faithfulest  fulfilment  of  the  task 

Thy  duty  lays  upon  thee  is,  —  thy  being; 

The  task  of  proper  being  is :    to  be 

The  purest,  feel  thyself  the  fullest,  love. 

What,  then,  is  blessedness  ?   clear-sightedness  ! 

So  hast  thou  blessedness,  when  thou  art  God's, 

When  God  is  thine,  when  ye  are  wholly  one, 

As  flower  and  petal,  sun  and  ray  are  one, 

And  ray  and  light  are  one,  and  light  and  fire. 

Thy  living  in  a  body,  in  the  flesh, 

No  more  compels  thee  to  be  flesh,  than  God, 

Who  in  and  through  the  body  and  the  flesh 

Of  the  vast  whole  is  the  God  manifest, 

Producing  only  a  God's  work,  —  His  life  ! 

Thou  genuine  man,  God-penetrated  one, 

God-conscious,  pupil  of  God's  gentleness, 

Conscious  alone  of  pure  humanity, 

So  be  thou  tranquil !  —  But  this  now  I  say, 

Thou  art  a  man  !     Thou  only  truly  such  : 

A  man  to  children,  like  an  angel  come 

To  love  and  teach  them  !  ....  to  the  virgin,  man, 

Pure,  chaste,  respectful,  gladly  granting  each 

The  truest,  fairest,  and  most  loving  life, 

Just  as  if  God  himself  had  here  on  earth 

A  daughter,  this  beloved  and  only  one!  .... 

Towards  gold  and  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth 

A  man,  holding  a  faithful  watchman's  post, 

Who  has  himself  much  greater  property  !  .  .  .  . 

A  man  before  the  poor  man,  as  if  God 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  385 

Lived  here  upon  the  earth  a  while  as  man, 

And  had  not  either  coat  or  bread  or  staff!  .... 

Yea,  even  to  the  criminal  a  man, 

As  if  God  had  his  youngest  brother  here, 

A  blind  man,  who,  going  forth  to  find  his  way 

To  his  physician,  groped  about  in  vain, 

Wounding  himself,  and  falling,  every  step !  .  .  .  . 

Yea,  to  the  hater,  even,  a  loving  man, 

Who,  like  the  silk-worm  in  his  gloomy  coil, 

Still  sleeps,  till  he  shall  wake  and  sunder  it. 

Thou  art  now  in  the  fair,  full  Universe ! 

What  need'st  thou  other  doctrine,  then,  of  life, 

Where  could'st  thou  find  a  nobler,  truer  one, 

Worthier  of  God,  —  of  truth,  —  and  worthier 

Of  man,  more  fitted  to  inflame  his  soul 

With  zeal  for  all  things  godlike,  to  impart 

Greatness,  nobility,  dignity,  repose, 

And  peace  and  joy  and  full  security, 

In  death  and  life  serene  felicity, 

Than  each  has  found  who  feels  :     "  God  lives  in  me ! 

Immediately,  the  all-immediate*  One!" 


XVI. 

Not  a  free  Will  but  a  good  Will  Man  wants. 

Man  must  do  good !     In  that  his  being  lies ; 
That  is,  on  earth  here  his  distinguishing 
Characteristic.     The  divinity 
Of  man  is  not  the  free,  but  the  good  will. 
His  free  will  is  but  error ;   while  he  errs, 

*  The  Translator  has  given  up  the  attempt  to  paraphrase  this  compound  for 
the  English  reader. 

17  Y 


386  THE  LAYMAN^  BREVIARY. 

So  long,  —  no  moment  longer,  —  is  he  free  ; 

When  once  he  recognizes  the  divine, 

It  irresistibly  constraineth  him  ! 

Rejoice  in  this  and  be  exceeding  glad ! 

For  had  man  been  but  dowered  with  free  will, 

Then  slavery  had  been  his  dowry  too  ! 

And  if  man  is  not  of  himself  divine, 

If  the  good  will,  like  the  free  will  itself, 

Is  only  an  endowment,  given  by  birth, 

Then  he  obeys  only  a  foreign  law, 

Impressed  upon  him  like  a  falling  stone. 

Yet  dost  thou  note  distinctly:     Gravity 

Resides  with  it,  resides  no  less  within 

The  smallest  sand-grain  of  the  crumbled  rock ; 

So,  too,  art  thou  a  pure  beam  from  the  fount 

Of  Good.     Goodness  is  thy  divinity. 

To  rid  himself  of  the  free  will,  that,  that 

Is  the  divine  and  earthly  work  of  man, 

And  what  releases  thee  from  the  free  will 

Is  the  clear  out-look  over  earthly  things 

And  heavenly  things,  it  is  the  power  of  love. — 

And  now  if  man  may  call  man  to  account, 
(—And  had  I  oft  and  heavily  "transgressed" 
As,  erringly,  thou  dost  baptize  man's  errors, — ) 
Reckon  against  me,  —  not  that  the  free  will, 
No,  —  that  a  good  will  was  not  found  in  me ! 
For  if  a  man  should  even  have  free  will, 
And  not  good  will,  how  wrould  a  man  e'er  fail  ? 
And  having  good  will,  —  what  can  fail  in  him? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  387 

XVII. 

Power  is  Will,  and  Will  is  Power. 

Own  thou  original  power  to  be  free  will 

And  pay  respect  to  will  as  to  free  power, 

Else  is  the  universe  the  slave  of  slaves. 

But  every  drop  of  water  is  a  lord, 

That  neither  red-hot  iron,  nor  ocean's  mass 

Can  tame,  nor  bend  nor  break  his  ancient  force  ; 

Each  particle  of  dust  is  likewise  free, 

Free  as  a  spirit  is,  and  thinkest  thou 

That  in  the  universe  it  serves  as  slave  ? 

It  works  on  there  according  to  its  force, 

And  wind  and  sea  know  not  obedience, 

Nor  man,  nor  anything,  nor  all  that  is. 

There  's  not  one  power  that  strives  to  subjugate,  — 

Each  will  but  be,  and  being  is  freedom,  work. 

And  think'st  thou,  were  a  man  once  subjugated, 

I  'd  hide  my  head  with  horror  in  the  grave  ! 

Tyrants  themselves  are  only  clearing  fires 

And  builders  up  of  freedom.     They  first  feel 

Freely  the  power  within  them, — but  they  seek 

To  stretch  it  far  o'er  other  powers,  —  and  break 

As  breaks  one  wave  on  thousand  rocks  around, 

And  by  the  death-cry  thus  awaken  men, 

Who  like  old  messengers  in  the  still  wood 

Hear  messages  and  carry  them  in  sleep  ! 


388  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XVIII. 

God  disposes  better  than  Man  proposes. 

I  never  saw  a  man  who  lived  the  life 

His  wishes  and  young  dreams  had  painted  him. 

Most  live  with  still  and  dogged  sullenness,  — 

Yea,  even  like  cast-a-ways  by  shipwreck,  robbed 

Of  former  goods,  and  left  in  some  poor  hut,  — 

In  their  rich  mansion  and  environment ! 

From  world  and  men  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 

From  his  own  mind,  a  mediate  third  results 

To  each,  like  the  ship's  pathway,  which  the  dash 

Of  waves,  helm,  wind,  and  ocean-currents  guide. 

The  steersman  counts  beforehand  on  them  all, 

Wisely  makes  all  work  with  him,  and  so  trims 

His  vessel  that  they  all  must  speed  his  course. 

The  inexperienced  boy  cannot  do  this, 

Swept  on,  at  starting,  by  the  holy  stream, 

And  so  he  misses,  every  time,  the  mark 

At  which  he  aimed,  and  finds  too,  every  time, 

A  land  more  beautiful,  a  richer  zoae, 

Of  which  his  novice-heart  had  never  dreamed ; 

And  this  firm  land,  this  sunny  continent, 

Is  better  than  the  land,  —  which  nowhere  was  ! 

The  earth  and  life  are  far  more  beautiful 

Than  ever  entered  into  childhood's  heart ; 

Not  even  the  morn  an  old  man's  dream  can  catch, 

For  he  who  knew  the  future,  were  not  man. 

Who  helps  create  it,  he  believes  it  !     He 

Is  earth-born  !     He  who  recognizes  it : 

Each  flying  sun-glance,  every  passing  cloud, 

Each  house  and  every  rose  the  thicket  hides, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  389 

And  every  smile  and  even  every  tear,  — 

Has  sat  in  the  great  Council  of  the  Gods  ; 

Sits,  as  a  child  does  at  a  father's  feet, 

Who,  in  the  midst  of  turbulent  elements, 

Strode  through  the  moony  night  with  giant  strength, 

And  with  the  morning  tells  him  how  he  fared,  — 

While  they  repose  beneath  a  fruit-tree,  full 

Of  bees  and  blossoms  in  the  broad,  full  sun  ! 


XIX. 

Be  not  a  Flaw-finder  in  the  Universe  of  Beauty. 

Say  that  thou  had'st  a  picture  full  of  charms, 

As  large  and  fair  and  lustrous  as  the  sky, 

From  which  a  paradise  looked  out  on  thee, 

But  on  the  golden  frame  of  it  there  sat 

Three  flies,  —  Wouldst  throw  the  picture  in  the  fire  ? 

Or  say  thou  hadst  a  basket  full  of  sweet 

And  luscious  grapes,  scarce  three  of  them  unripe, 

Wouldst  thou  shake  off  the  clusters  to  the  swine  ? 

Say  that  ten  thousand  virgins,  perfect  all 

In  beauty,  hovered  round  thee,  smiled  on  thee ; 

Yet  seven  had  seven  gray  hairs  in  their  heads, 

Wouldst  thou  command  the  whole  of  them  to  hell  ? 

That  wouldst  thou  not.     Yet  dost  thou  something  worse, 

Not  saying  :    "  Man  is  good  ;   the  universe 

Is  lovely  ;   life  is  worthy  to  be  lived !  " 

What  though  a  few,  as  among  golden  coins, 

True  gold  indeed,  yet  seem  not  fully  stamped, 

And  show  thee  not  God's  image  bright  and  clear  ? 

Yet  if  thou  hast  joy  in  the  hushed-out  joy 

Of  thousand  tribes,  which  still  from  out  their  graves 


39o  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Rises,  and  rings  as  echo  down  through  time,  — 

If  the  ineffably  high  loveliness 

Of  earth  and  the  great  sky  enraptures  thee,  — 

And  goodness  of  so  many  thousand  good, 

Methink'st  thou  couldst  not,  in  thy  ecstasy, 

Thrilled  by  the  heavenly  music  of  the  spheres, 

With  thy  inspired,  glowing  vision,  —  sure 

Thou  couldst  not  note,  —  thou  couldst  not  number  then 

The  seven  gray  hairs,  —  but  truly,  faithfully, 

Wouldst  call  the  common  face  of  man  so  fair  ! 

And  man  so  good !     The  fault  lies  in  thine  eye, 

Perhaps,  yea  certainly,  that  thou  dost  not 

Find  even  the  bad  man's  soul  to  be  divine, 

Just  as  the  surgeon's  eye  must  needs  confess 

The  very  body  of  the  criminal 

A  godlike  work  of  God,  — his  masterpiece, 

Though  He  had  never  built  one  more  than  this  ! 

When  cavilling  makes  happy,  rich,  and  wise, 

Then  will  I  let  my  eyes  be  blinded,  too, 

And  to  my  spirit  say  :    "  Hush,  Satan,  hush  !  " 


xx. 

Be  Good  and  so  do  Good. 

Findest  thou  any  real  difference 

To  lie  'twixt  being  good  and  doing  good  ? 

The  leaf  that  shines  and  rustles  on  the  tree, 

Is  that  which  thou,  a  human  being,  art, 

Does  that  which  human  virtue  does  through  thee, 

Only  in  different  and  finer  form  ! 

With  all  thy  doing,  all  thy  knowing,  thou 

Wilt  hardly  match  the  lark's  fidelity, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  391 

The  spider's,  as  she  weaves  her  wondrous  web, 

The  wind's,  that  nightly  sweeps  along  the  sky, 

That  hurries  on,  inspired  by  God's  own  life, 

And  as  it  flies,  fulfils  his  high  behest. 

O  man  !     O  good  and  pure  and  noble  man, 

Be  thou  so  good,  so  noble  and  so  pure 

As  not  to  lift  thyself  above  thy  soul ! 

For  thy  soul's  pith  and  highest  virtue  is 

Calmly  and  humanly  to  let  thy  life 

Conform  to  that  great  universe  around ! 

And  not  to  contradict  it  !     Only  not 

To  be  a  discord  in  the  harmony 

Of  heaven,  in  the  great  starry  family, 

And  in  the  race  of  little  earthly  flowers  ! 

O  man,  how  godlike  wilt  thou  be  at  length, 

When  thou  art  modest  and  a  simple  man, 

In  whom  that  pure,  fair  spirit  loves  to  dwell, 

Who  fills  the  sky  above  and  earth  below,  — 

And  thee  no  less,  —  with  every  beauteous  shape ; 

And  sure  this  sense  of  pure  and  primal  life 

Pervading  round  about  thee  all  that  moves, 

Is  blesseder  than  all  thy  doing  is, — 

'T  is  verily  thy  sense,  thy  godlike  science  ! 


XXI. 

Prayer  the  Transfiguration  of  Man. 

That  which  transpires  with  thee  in  prayer,  —  what  thing 
Thou  dost  in  prayer,  —  that,  sure,  must  be  a  prayer  ! 
Thou  utterest  wakefully  the  name  of  God,  — 
And  hast  already  wrought  a  miracle, 
The  first  of  miracles  hath  come  on  thee, 


392 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Shining  like  lightning,  flooding  thee  with  light ; 

The  blazing  morning  sun,  that  stood  just  now 

Up  yonder  in  the  heavens,  —  has  disappeared! 

Day  is  no  more,  nor  night,  —  seized,  seized,  snatched  up 

By  the  still  arm  of  power,  thou  lookest  forth, 

As  over  tranquillized  autumnal  fields, 

O'er  myriad  sunken  cities,  far  away 

O'er  dead  and  buried  generations,  long, 

Long  laid  to  rest,  of  this  earth's  men  and  flowers, 

Away,  over  all  graves,  —  and  even  thine  : 

And  there  is  not  one  grave,  for  lo  !    God  is  ! 

On  a  sick-bed  thou  liest,  suffering  much, — 

Thou  utterest  wakefully  the  name  of  God, — 

And  feel'st  the  freshness  to  thy  bosom's  core, 

Which  wafts  thee  health  from  all  the  universe,  — 

And  art  refreshed,  for  lo !   thou  feelest  God  ! 

Thou  wast  awake,  the'  great,  the  private  soul 

Within  thee  felt  itself,  naught  but  itself, 

But  its  own  feeling!  the  pure,  private  spirit 

With  its  own  eyes  looked  through  and  through  itself, 

Deep  as  it  could.     And  deeply  as  it  gazed, 

It  saw  all  that,  which  was  all,  all  its  own. 

O  !  a  man's  heart  is  broad  as  Heaven  itself, 

Has  Heaven's  own  bliss  !   and,  to  arouse  thyself, 

To  wake,  to  feel  thyself  awake,  to  feel 

Who  lives  in  thee,  who  is  thyself  and  was, 

From  all  eternity,  and  so  remains,  — 

To  make  the  universe  thy  home  and  bed, 

Just  as  the  swallow  hies  her  to  her  nest, 

Just  as  the  drop  of  blood  mounts  to  the  heart, 

That  only  is  true  prayer.     But  that  is  prayer  ! 

And  is  then  that  a  glory  ?  or  a  shame  ? 

Is  that  a  misery  ?  or  is  't  a  joy  ? 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  393 

Is  it  a  prayer,  or  is  't  a  giving  thanks  ? 

Is  it  a  refuge,  or  a  subterfuge  ? 

When  thou  dost  will  the  godlike  in  thee,  when 

The  will  has  once  appeared  to  thee  as  deed, 

And  now  appears  in  thee  the  greatest  deed 

And  holiest :   the  most  God-contented  one, 

Truly  it  is  thy  glory  then,  —  thy  prayer  ! 

To  honor,  is  the  very  highest  honor  j 

Woe  on  the  man  who  is  ashamed  to  pray, 

He  is  no  man  !     He  knows  not  what  man  is, 

What  he  can  do  and  what  he  ought  to  do,  — 

'T  is  the  transfiguration  of  himself ! 

Of  pain  and  woe  and  bliss  and  human  life, 

In  its  great,  calm,  serenely  gladsome  light  ! 

And  pain  and  woe  and  bliss  and  human  life, 

Yea,  even  a  tear  itself,  can  lead  to  that; 

The  stillest  night,  the  light  of  a  child's  eye, 

Is  bright  enough  for  that,  and  every  clod 

Of  dust  becomes  a  Tabor  to  thy  sight. 

What  need  of  Moses  and  Elias  f  \* 

When  God  is  with  thee,  in  thee,  round  about  thee, 

Hid  and  loud-voiced,  embracing  and  embraced ! 


XXII. 

Friendship  and  Philanthropy. 

Thou  sigh'st:    "I  have  no  friend!"     That  saddens  me, 
Because  it  pains  thee,  —  yet  it  gladdens  me. 
A  friend  is  a  half  noble  man,  who  gives 
To  one  alone  what  he  should  give  to  all ; 

*  This  gap,  so  filled  up,  is  in  the  original.      Possibly  the  name  of  Jesus  was 
understood.  —  TR. 


394  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

His  time,  his  strength,  his  talents,  and  himself. 

The  mother  is  a  friend  of  her  first  child, 

Her  only  one  ;  as,  in  the  ancient  times, 

They  who  were  men,  became  each  other's  friends. 

Then  comes  a  second  child,  a  third,  a  fourth, 

And  lo !  her  eye  watches  with  equal  love 

Over  this  second  child,  this  third,  this  fourth,  — 

She  loves  them  all,  and  now  is  truly  mother  ! 

And  say  thou  hast  a  friend,  and  there  lived  one, 

And  there  lived  ten,  a  hundred,  like  to  him 

In  everything,  in  body,  soul,  and  grace, 

Thou  must  be  friend  to  all  as  to  this  one ! 

If  now  all  men  should  seem  to  thee  alike, 

With  faculties,  ay,  and  their  very  faults, 

Qf  superhumanly  exalted  worth, 

And  lovely  as  the  near  Divinity, 

0  must  thou  not  then,  —  as  the  mother  is 
To  all  her  children,  —  be  to  each  a  friend  ? 
He  is  a  friend  to  each,  who  honors  each  ; 
He  honors  each,  who  knows  and  recognizes 
Each  !     Then  at  thy  door  only  lies  the  blame, 
If  thou  art  not  a  common  friend  of  men  ! 
That  all  are  not  thy  friends,  the  friends  of  all, 
That  is  their  fault,  that  is  their  sin  alone, 
Greatest  of  sins,  the  sin  against  pure  love  ! 

If,  then,  thou  hast  no  friend,  if  to  have  none 

1  wish  thee,  —  ah,  what  great  thing  wish  I  then, 
For  thee,  —  for  all !     Ah,  —  only  human  love  ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  395 

XXIII. 
Make  Account  of  Spirit,  not  Person. 

Timote  della   Vita  da  Urbino, 

Thou  painted'st  the  Madonna  di  San  Sisto  ; 

From  an  exceeding  human  modesty 

Thou  didst  forbear  to  give  the  work  thy  name, 

As  if  the  features  of  God's  blessed  mother 

Had  feebly  come  to  light  beneath  thy  hand  ! 

And  now  the  caviller  says,  He  did  not  dare 

To  trust  himself,  willing  enough  was  he, 

His  work  should  bear  the  angelic  Master's  name  !  — 

Thou  wilt  decide,  good  soul,  the  noble  strife, 

Thou  who  from  genuine  human  feeling  dost 

Thy  deeds  of  goodness  in  God's  name,  and  yet 

Doest  thy  godlike  work  in  silent  joy  ! 

To  will  the  good  and  to  create  the  good, 

'T  is  only  fellow-feeling  with  the  Lord, 

'T  is  only  fellow- working  with  the  Lord, 

The  soul  of  all,  the  self-harmonious  one. 

Transparent  seems  the  human  soul  through  which 

Thy  soul  of  all  shines  ;   but  that  only  is 

Transparent,  which  is  equal  with  the  light, 

Which  is  light ;    and  wherever  thou  shalt  see 

A  good  man  willing  good  and  doing  good, 

Thou  seest  God's  essence,  not  his  image,  there. 

False,  wretched,  pitiable,  abject  is  it 

To  expect  from  any  creature  in  the  world 

Thy  fortune,  thy  felicity,  thy  life, 

To  wait  on  him  for  freedom,  truth,  and  right ! 

From  whom  expectest  thou  thy  Spirit,  then  ? 

Art  thou  that  spirit,  full  of  its  rich  heaven, 


396  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

What  helper  wilt  them  look  to  among  men? 

And  sure  —  thy  virtue  none  bestows  on  thee. 

Then  quietly  confront  each  heavenly  power 

And  human  might,  and  place  thyself  at  once 

Up  at  its  side  ;   smile  when  one  says  to  thee  : 

"  I  am  thy  master  !     Follow  !  "     For  that  Spirit 

Who  is  as  great  as  the  whole  universe, 

He  grudges  not  to  each  to  be  a  spirit, 

Like  him,  and  is,  from  very  greatness,  still. 

No  word,  no  work,  contains  the  truth  entire  ; 

The  spirit  needs  the  entire  universe 

Forever,  to  speak  out,  to  manifest 

Its  being  utterly,  and  as  a  work 

Of  beauty  livingly  unfold  itself. 

For  that  creation  is  a  finished  work, 

Is  but  a  fiction  of  the  human  mind, 

Recounting  all  things  future  as  things  past, 

Things  that  are  seen,  —  because  it  looked  on  them. 

O  name  me  that  one  only  creature,  pray, 

That  only  one,  that  was,  is,  and  will  be, 

With  which  the  great,  great  God  has  joined  himself 

So  intimately,  indistinguishably, 

That,  for  the  creature,  thou  canst  see  no  more 

The  God,  in  which  he  has  entirely  hid, 

Emptied,  himself  for  all  eternity, 

And  by  him  and  behind  him  is  as  dead, 

Yea,  really  dead.     Tell  me  the  creature's  name  ! 

And  know'st  thou  none,  —  forever  hold  thy  peace. 

There  's  none  through  whom  life  first  has  come  to  be, 

Not  through  a  man  has  man  begun  to  be, 

Man,  the  great,  rich,  fair  vigor  of  the  world ; 

Through  no  one's  word  has  truth  tjeen  first  made  true, 

Or  goodness  good,  or  beauty  beautiful. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Because  there  was  a  Beauty,  Goodness,  Truth, 

The  teachers  ever  came  to  utter  it ; 

They  have  by  it  grown  up  to  the  true  man, 

The  good,  the  beautiful ;   't  is  not  through  them 

The  entire  God,  the  entire  truth,  gets  life. 

One  who  reveals  does  not  thereby  create, 

The  Revelation  is  not  yet  the  Truth, 

The  pouring  from  the  cask  is  not  the  wine. 

Art  thou  a  spirit  now  ?     Or  hast  thou  one  ? 

Thou  hast  not  one  ;    for  that  which  had  a  spirit, 

Were  higher,  greater  than  the  Greatest,  Highest ! 

Thou  art  a  spirit,  then  ;    and  if  a  spirit, 

Then  art  thou  unbegotten  and  unborn, 

Thou  art  from  everlasting  to  everlasting. 

There  are  not  higher  spirits  and  lower  ones, 

Immortal  ones  and  mortal;  there  are  not 

Divine  and  human  ones,  —  but  only  spirit : 

Spirit  is  everywhere  and  always  one. 

The  spirit,  properly,  is,  all  that  is  ; 

Force,  love,  and  life,  and  clear  self-consciousness. 

And  were  there  a  creative  will  that  could 

Beget  e'en  spirits  out  of  nothingness, 

Then  would  the  thing  created  be  the  germ 

Of  the  creator,  and  the  thing  one  willed 

Were  even  higher  than  the  one  that  willed; 

The  offspring  of  the  will  would  give  the  will 

Its  first  true  being,  be  the  will  itself, 

In  its  completed,  its  diviner  shape  ! 

In  it  the  will  would  be  first  glorified. 

Thou  art  the  spirit's,  thou  art  spirit :    thou  art 

The  self  of  all  that  lives  and  moves  in  thee, 

Thy  very  frame  is  holy  nature's  self, 

As  man,  thou  livest  nature's  very  life ; 


397 


398  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  boldest  not  the  estate  of  love  in  fee, 

Because  thy  love  is  love  itself.     As  man, 

Thou  liv'st  the  beauteous  life  of  God  himself, 

While  he  is  yet  God-man  ;   for  to  be  man 

No  shadow,  only  God  alone,  has  power. 

Thou  holdest  God  not  only  in  short  fee, 

Not  as  a  heavenly  treasure  hast  thou  him, 

He  did  not  let  the  fulness  of  his  being 

Sink  into  thee  ;   long  hadst  thou  been  thyself 

Spirit  and  love  itself;   thou  wast  before 

Immortal,  art  immortal  now  as  man  ; 

Man  is  immortal  even  on  the  earth, — 

Immortal  thou  shalt  still  remain,  when  fades 

The  beauteous  flower,  whose  form  thy  being  took. 


XXIV. 
Contemplation  of  our  loved  Ones  asleep. 

To  look  upon  our  loved  ones  in  their  sleep, 

How  blissful  !   and  yet  how  disheartening,  too  ! 

By  day  they  still  are  thine  :    they  have  no  thought, 

No  wish,  it  ever  could  be  otherwise  ; 

Then  blooms  their  heart,  as  bloom  the  cups  of  flowers 

—  By  day,  —  and  close  themselves  at  night  in  night, 

As  charmed  away  out  of  the  lightsome  realm 

Of  life  and  love  !     Watching  the  sleepers  now 

Well  dost  thou  see,  and  startling  is  the  thought: 

They  are  not  'wholly  thine !     They  half  belong 

To  holy  Nature,  nay,  are  wholly  hers, 

Who  only  consecrates  their  thought  to  thee, 

And  takes  them  home  to  her  at  night  in  dream 

Into  her  realm  ne'er  trod  by  human  foot, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


399 


To  which  nor  hate,  nor  earthly  joy  and  woe, 

Not  even  love,  can  ever  follow  them  ! 

Where  in  the  mother's  arms  alone  they  rest, 

As  little  children  for  a  single  night 

Go  to  sleep  with  and  comfort  "  Grandmother  !  " 

In  sleep  the  loving  one  no  longer  loves, 

The  fairest  is  in  sleep  no  longer  fair, 

The  ugliest  is  no  longer  ugly  then  ! 

They  are  the  hollow  mask  of  man,  —  no  more,  — 

A  proof  that  't  is  the  soul  makes  beautiful, 

Invests  with  charms  and  to  itself  wins  love 

By  ever  new  transpiercings  of  bright  flame, 

Flashings  and  glowings,  as  of  golden  coals. 

The  child,  with  that  unutterable  mien, 

As  cool,  as  old,  he  looks,  —  as  the  full  moon,  — 

And  yet,  at  morning  he  will  love  thee  so, 

While  now  the  rose-hue  flushes  cheek  alone. 

Now  thou  thyself  wilt  also  sink  to  sleep, 

Be  lost  to  him,  no  longer  be  his  stay, 

His  guard  and  guide  !   like  one  whose  love  has  cooled, 

Snatched  off  forever  to  a  distant  land,  — 

Yet  with  the  sun  love,  too,  comes  back  again 

Just  as  to  flowers  ccme  fragrance,  heart  and  eyes  ! 

—  But  thee  the  spectacle  has  not  cast  down, 

It  has  uplifted  thee,  has  made  thee  great, 

For  what  belongs  to  God,  thou  callest  thine 

With  right,  for  thou  thyself  art  God's  and  theirs ! 


400  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXV. 

Man  hugs  his  selfish  Wishes  in  Death. 

A  little  naked  child  laid  on  its  back 
In  ever  so  shallow  water  for  a  bath, 
By  its  fond  mother,  all  so  carefully, 
For  fear  of  sinking  into  endless  depth, 
Holds  fast  so  sweetly  its  own  little  hands  ! 
So  man  clings  to  his  wishes  even  then, 
—  Like  the  air-sailor  to  his  light  balloon, — 
When  earth,  his  mother,  lays  him  in  the  grave 
With  her  soft  hand  and  holds  him  safely  there  ! 

XXVI. 

Rest  even  in  this  fleeting  Life. 

One  thing  hold  fast,  and  thinking  on  it,  grow 
More  and  more  tender,  tranquil  and  serene  : 
The  earth  is  but  the  spirit's  resting-place, 
That  hovers  through  the  All  with  holy  love  ; 
The  constellations,  —  golden  oases, 
And  all  things,  whatso'er,  this  earth  brings  forth 
Are  but  its  inn  of  rest,  its  tarry  ing-place  ; 
The  rose,  even  man,  is  but  its  rest,  the  heart 
Of  man,  so  passionately  though  it  beats. 
And  dost  thou  think,  believe,  see  that,  O  Soul  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  grant  it,  then,  the  peace  of  rest, 
And  be  composed  and  calm  in  life  and  death  ? 
It  were  itself  worse  off  thereby  than  thou, 
Could  it  not  find  tranquillity  and  rest, 
Content  and  love,  in  thee,  as  thou  it ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  401 

For  God's  sake,  therefore,  live  a  godly  life, 
And  lovingly  repose  in  blessedness  J 


XXVII. 
What  is  Death  ? 

Man  dies  alive.     Think  upon  that  for  once  ! 

And  does  he  die  to  death  ?   or  die  to  life  ? 

Or  is  he  born  dead  ?  does  he  at  his  birth 

Begin  to  live  ?  —  thou  askest  ?     Know  thou,  then  : 

God  is  born  with  thee  and  within  thee,  —  lives 

In  thee,  with  thee,  loves  and  does  good  through  thee  ! 

And  when  thou  diest,  O  man,  God  dies  with  thee, 

In  thee  His  spirit  parts  with  human  flesh : 

Yet  as  God  does  not  die,  —  dies  not  to  death,  — 

Thou  diest  not,  nor  either  of  you  dies, 

Nor  one  of  all  who,  living,  die  with  Him. 

For  dying  is  itself  His  very  life 

Forevermore,  as  it  is  also  thine : 

'T  is  transformation,  rest,  and  endless  bliss  ; 

Only  the  ending  of  a  change  is  —  Death. 


xxvni. 

What  can  Man  give  God  ? 

The  child  has  taken  flowers  to  bed  with  him, 

To  give  them  in  the  night  to  the  dear  God; 

And  gayly,  too,  has  ready  spotted  cards, 

To  play  with  them  with  angels  in  the  night  ; 

And  what  wilt  thou,  then,  take  with  thee  to  heaven  ? 

Thy  human  virtue  and  thy  human  joy  ? 


402  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  what,  O  man,  wilt  thou  then  offer  God 
But  what  on  earth  He  saw,  created,  was  ! 
The  universe  is  holy,  one  throughout, 
No  Solomon's  temple,  with  its  outer  court 
And  inner,  with  its  ark  and  sanctuary, 
Man's  life  is  rich  as  is  his  death  itself, — 
Its  scenery  full  of  pomp  in  every  part ; 
Its  "  stream  of  death,"  clear  as  its  fountain  is, 
Its  fount  immeasurable  as  its  stream. 


XXIX. 

Love  abideth  forever. 

What  enters  pure  and  changeless  into  heaven, 

As  morning  dew  from  thousand  cups  of  flowers, 

As  light  of  day  into  the  evening  sun, 

As  pure  from  cloudy  as  from  pleasant  days  — 

Is  Love !     While  fear  and  sorrow  and  remorse 

Are  left  behind  as  the  precipitate 

Of  life,  earth's  portion.     Even  the  great  genii 

Of  man  on  earth :  even  Faith  and  Hope  themselves 

Have  to  wait  out  before  the  gates  of  Heaven,  — 

There  they  are  nothing  now,  where  in  their  place 

Fulfilment  comes  and  sight.     There  Love  alone, 

Abides  the  same,  because  it  was  from  Heaven  ! 

And  as  within,  so  too  without,  is  she 

The  heavenly  one  ;  to  men  no  less  than  spirits, 

To  all  that  lives  in  earth  and  Heaven  is  she, 

The  one  great  spirit  of  the  universe, 

And  one  felicity  she  grants  to  all ! 


TEE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  403 

XXX. 

The  great  future  Autumn  of  the  Heavens. 

Thou  sawest  the  water-lilies  in  the  pond, 

Swimming  with  golden  globules  in  their  cups, 

The  star-like  water-caltrops  sawest  thou 

That  rooted  in  the  water  swam  and  ripened, 

And  swimming  passed  away  and  were  dissolved 

Into  their  mother-water,  just  as  here 

The  flowers  sink  back  into  their  mother-earth. 

Full  of  the  sight  and  of  the  thoughts  it  wakes, 

Thou  liftest  up  thy  eyes  now  to  the  stars  ; 

And  in  the  ocean  of  eternal  blue 

That  fills  the  universe,  from  which  proceeds 

All  that  appears,  and  into  which  sink  back 

All  things  that  pass  away,  and  nourishes 

All  germs  of  things  and  all  the  things  themselves, 

Thou  seest  the  constellations  —  golden  flowers  — 

Bloom  softly  swimming  in  the  great  sea-pond  — 

Haply,  —  nay,  certainly,  so  blooming  ripen, 

And  meanwhile  (like  Libellas,  and  like  bees) 

Visit  the  creatures  in  their  blossom-time, 

Landing  awhile  upon  their  golden  cups. 

And  as  the  water-lilies  in  the  pond 

Swim  with  the  golden  globules  in  their  cups  — 

And  as  the  star-like  water-caltrops  do, 

So  in  the  ether-ocean  certainly, 

Do  they,  too,  fade  and  vanish  like  the  flowers, 

And  to  their  children  leave  the  germ,  the  seed. 

Yea,  as  the  flowers  are  in  the  pond  dissolved, 

As  it  thenceforth  shows  only  its  blue  waves 

And  no  flower  more,  so  may  one  day,  perchance, 


404 


THE  LAYMAWS  BREVIARY. 


The  ether  also  be  without  a  star, 

Only  still  teeming  with  its  ancient  force, 

And  a  great  autumn  reign  in  heaven's  wide  fields. 

Now  cast  thy  eyes  down  silently  to  earth, 

And  see,  how  through  the  dark  twigs  of  the  trees 

Sparkle  the  golden  stars  !     Look  now  thy  fill, 

Then  lay  thy  hand  upon  thy  beating  heart, 

And  kiss  thy  children  in  their  little  beds, 

That  bloom  as  rosy  as  yon  stars  in  heaven! 

Not  long,  not  always  wilt  thou  love,  dear  heart, 

Thine  own,  as  now  !     Rare  are  the  days  and  few, 

And  yet  they  are  !     And  this  is  your  great  day  / 


THE    LAYMAN'S   BREVIARY. 

DECEMBER. 


DECEMBER. 


I.  Who  shall  write  a  Day's  History  ? 

II.  Be  at  Home  and  at  one  with  all  Things. 

III.  The  Realm  of  Light. 

IV.  Heaven  the  Cradle  and  Grave  of  Man. 
V.  Life  the  great  Teacher. 

VI.  The  Blessedness  of  being  needed. 

VII.  Pity  not  the  Sufferer,  but  the  Sinner. 

VIII.  Servant  of  All,  —  free  of  All. 

IX.  Honor  all  Men 

X.  Beauty  a  Snare. 

XI.  Be  Master  of  Fortune. 

XII.  Make  the  best  of  what  is. 

XIII.  Enjoy  simply  the  common  Lot. 

XIV.  Live  out  a  whole  Life. 

XV.  Men  are  growing  on  into  Man. 

XVI.  The  poor  rich  Man. 

XVII.  It  is  Good  to  have  been  Good. 

XVIII.  Past  Joys  bitter,  —  past  Woes  sweet. 

XIX.  Reap  daily  the  Harvest  of  Humanity. 

XX.  The  Mirror  of  the  Lake  a  Mirror  of  the  Soul. 

XXI.  Man  is  what  God  yearned  to  be. 

XXII.  Moral  Beauty  surviving  physical. 

XXIII.  Over-Anxiety. 

XXIV.  Nature's  Lesson  of  Contentment 

XXV.  The  Ten  Prohibitions  and  the  One  Commandment. 

XXVI.  Man's  three  Foes  :    Pain,  Fate,  and  early  Death. 

XXVII.  Life  is  more  than  the  Means  of  Life. 

XXVIII.  Each  Man  can  have  unique  Bliss. 

XXIX.  Stay  at  Home. 

XXX.  Live  to  Learn,  and  learn  to  Live. 
XXXI.     Man's  Word  the  Porch ;  God's  World,  the  Temple. 


DECEMBER. 


Who  shall  "write  a  Day's  History  ? 

OW  full,  how  rapturously  full,  the  hearts 
Of  men,  of  all  men,  all  the  days  and  nights ! 
Completely  to  express  a  single  day, 
The  very  commonest  and  least  of  all, 
To  give  its  full  and  faithful  history, 
That  were  a  task  which  the  whole  human  race, 
All  women  and  old  people  everywhere, 
Could  not  accomplish  in  a  thousand  years  ! 
So  much  has  in  that  single  earthly  day 
Transpired  in  every  breast  !     In  that  one  day 
So  much  has  come  to  pass  for  every  man, 
So  many  wonders  happened,  there  has  been 
So  much  to  gaze  at,  be  astonished  at, 
So  much  to  smile,  weep  or  rejoice  over, 
So  much  to  bear,  and  praise,  so  many  things 
Unutterable,  to  be  silent  of! 
Yet,  after  all,  what  has  one  day  brought  forth  ? 
What  one  unique,  never  recurring  thing  ? 
The  sun  rose  in  the  morning,  that  was  all, 
It  thundered,  and  the  lightning  killed  a  man, 
A  rainbow  reared  its  many-colored  arch, 
The  young  wife  o'er  the  way  has  borne  a  child, 
And  god-parents  in  festal,  gay  attire, 
Have  gone  with  him  to  church  in  the  bright  sun, 


4o8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

The  wedding  train  has  met  a  funeral; 

The  moon  has  risen  in  complete  eclipse, 

And  yet  the  stars  have  sparkled  bright  o'erhead, 

And  that  same  wife  has  had  a  wondrous  dream  ! 

O,  it  has  been  the  day  of  God's  great  works  ! 

Yet  verily,  all  poets  that  have  lived, 

All  the  old  men  and  all  the  modern  ones, 

Have  scooped  out  only  a  few  handfuls,  all, 

From  the  great  fountain  of  God's  universe  ! 

And  all  the  painters,  past  and  future  ones, 

Taken  together,  fail  to  represent 

Completely  so  much  as  a  moment's  glimpse 

Of  earthly  beauty  and  of  earthly  life, 

As  a  mere  image  on  their  painting-ground  ! 

And  all  the  natural  philosophers 

May  sit  together  till  the  day  of  doom, 

To  expound  a  wedding,  a  baptismal  feast,  — 

With  circumstance  of  mother,  child,  and  flowers, 

Of  earth  below  and  of  the  heavens  above, 

With  sinking  of  the  sun  and  rise  of  moon, 

Sweet  drawings  of  the  heart  and  gracious  love, 

Clear  flow  of  life  and  peacefulness  of  dreams  ! 

Yet  are  all  living  beings  full  of  it, 

And  revel  in  it  with  unconscious  bliss, 

And  all  the  dead  were  full  of  it  and  sank 

Down  into  death  sweetly  forgetting  it ! 

And  holy  knowledge  must  there  be  in  death! 


THE  LAYMANS  BREVIARY.  409 

ii. 

Be  at  Home  and  at  one  with  all  Things. 

Thy  restless  heart  has  never  missed  a  throb, 
Since  first  the  ether  filled  thy  little  breast 
•So  heavily,  it  overflowed  in  tears, 
And  put  the  work  of  secret  nature,  thus, 
(Thy  shape,  God's  cunning  work,)  upon  the  wing ! 
And  stirs  it  still,  feeding  with  every  breath 
The  life  and  spirit,  with  a  care  so  more 
Than  fatherly !     Thy  thinking,  too,  not  once 
Has  stopped,  in  one  continuance  has  the  weft 
Filled  itself  with  new  woof  out  of  the  All, 
In  waking  hours  by  day,  in  sleep  by  night. 
So  evermore,  then,  to  thyself  be  true ! 
Not  one  misstep  will  Heaven  e'er  let  thee  make 
On  this  sharp,  swaying,  perilous  bridge  of  life, 
That  leads  through  air  across  the  grim  abyss, 
And  suddenly  hurls  thee  down,  irrevocably  ! 
Thou  hast  till  now  hit  always  the  right  track, 
As  if  invisible  spirits  set  thy  foot. 
And  so  thou  pressest  onward  in  the  cloud, 
The  daylight,  into  spaces  never  dreamed, 
That  never  were,  to  which  the  seeing  eye 
Gave  their  first  shape,  which  the  foot's  tread  stamped  up 
From  earth,  like  fountains  —  for  thou  bringest  them. 
Thou  liv'st  and  mov'st,  and  from  within  thyself 
Picturest  forth  thy  life  in  space  and  time. 
Thou  must  go  through  with  all,  thyself  alone ; 
Thou  art  alone  within  thy  mother's  womb ; 
Thou  art  alone  upon  thy  mother's  lap ; 
Thou  art  alone  over  against  the  Sun, 
18 


4io  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

On  the  broad  earth  with  human  myriads  ; 

Thou  art  alone  in  all  thy  highest  joy, 

Thou  art  alone  in  all  thy  deepest  woe, 

Thou  art  alone,  when  thy  last  hour  draws  nigh, 

When  that  old  phantom  death  speaks  low  with  thee, 

Thou  art  alone  within  thy  coffin  !     But 

Alone  thou  canst  be,  only  in  thy  home, 

As  a  blind  child  is  in  his  father's  house! 

The  spirit  is  always  with  thee,  in  its  source  ; 

Thou  feelst  thyself  at  home,  when  once  thou  weepest, 

Thou  art  at  home,  where  Beauty  beams  on  thee, 

Thou  art  at  home,  where'er  thou  doest  good, 

Thou  art  at  home,  where  rapture  thrills  thy  breast 

When  death  takes  from  thee  some  dear  thing,  some  flower, 

When  gazing  on  the  dead,  when  stark  distress 

Confronts  thee,  when  some  wrong  that  cries  to  heaven 

Is  done,  when  woe  heart-rending  seizes  thee, 

Then  art  thou  speedily  at  home  !     There  stay ! 

When  thou  once  lovest  and  art  loved  till  death, 

Then  art  thou  in  thy  beauteous  blessed  home  ! 

When,  now,  dear  soul,  art  thou  far  off  from  it  ? 

Then  be  not,  gentle  spirit,  rent  in  twain, 

Beget  thou  not  thy  double  in  thy  breast 

By  a  bad  deed !     When  thou,  no  longer  light, 

Shalt  cast  a  shadow  !     When  the  universe 

Shall  be  no  more  to  thee  a  looking-glass  ! 

Abide  thou  in  thy  lone  simplicity, 

One  with  all  things  and  one  in  all  thy  powers ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  41 1 

in. 

The  Realm  of  Light. 

There  is  a  realm  of  light,  —  a  million  suns, 

That  in  the  world  create  a  second  world ; 

There  is  the  power  of  vision,  resident 

Deep  in  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe, 

Who  frames  himself  the  wonder-matching  eye, 

Calmly  to  feast  on  the  fair  realm  of  light ; 

The  fish  at  ocean's  dusky  bottom  sees, 

The  owl  sees  clearly  in  the  gloom  of  night,  — 

The  realm  of  light  were  there,  were  there  no  eye  ; 

The  seeing  power  were  there  without  the  light, 

And  only  for  each  other  both  exist, 

And  jointly  form  a  magic  ring  of  life. 

But  softly  ask'st  thou  :    must  one  live,  to  see  ? 

Or  see,  to  live  ?   or  must  one  live  to  love  ? 

Is  then  this  realm  of  light  the  only  realm  ? 

O  realm  of  light,  realm  of  the  wonderful, 

Thou  Universe  within  the  Universe, 

Thou  from  the  rising  to  the  setting  sun 

Of  Time,  illumined  through  unmeasured  space, 

Hall  of  the  gods  in  this  house  of  the  gods, 

In  through  thy  gates  there  throng  unceasingly 

Troops  of  bright  creatures  turned  to  golden  masks, 

Each  with  two  windows  of  the  spirit  and  heaven, 

One  only  has  three  eyes,  the  Sun  but  one, — 

"The  fair,  blind  maiden"  in  the  golden  world! 

So  these  innumerable  populations 

Of  beings  come  to  the  fair  light  of  day, 

That  they,  too,  once  may  see  the  beauteous  world, 

All  that  their  Master's  hand  mysteriously,  — 


4i2  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

He  like  one  blind  and  with  invisible  hands, — 

Has  conjured  up  out  of  the  deep  of  power,  — 

You,  starry  hosts  above  there !     Thee,  O  Sun, 

The  moon,  the  clouds,  the  rainbow  in  the  clouds, 

The  strength  of  mountains  and  repose  of  vales, 

The  gloss  of  green  poured  out  upon  the  leaves, 

The  blue  of  heaven  reposing  on  the  sea, 

The  morning-redness  lingering  on  the  rose, 

And  myriad  hues  of  all  the  myriad  flowers, 

The  gleam  of  gold  and  silver's  milder  sheen 

On  clouds  and  shells,  —  all  these  they  come  to  see, 

Yet  more  than  all  the  loving  eye  itself! 

To  see  how  love  looks  upon  all  and  smiles, 

Feasting  itself  with  beauty,  with  the  beauty 

Of  light's  enchanting  realm,  than  all  the  rest 

Still  greater  wonder !     Ah,  and  is  this  flight 

Through  the  vast  hall  life's  acme  ?     Rather  say, 

The  eyes  of  all  are  but  a  single  eye, 

Eye  of  the  world,  its  morning  light  are  they, 

The  still,  immovable  fly's-eye  of  God, 

Which  with  its  thousand  mirrors  searches  all, 

Sees  into  every  day,  each  little  nook, 

With  the  bee's  eye  into  each  flower-cup  sees, 

And  with  the  mouse  pries  through  each  dusky  night ! 

See,  then,  the  beautiful,  O  beauteous  man  ! 

And  prize  thy  power  to  see,  as  all  divine. 

And  now  the  blind  man  !     O  be  kind  to  him 

Who  never  saw  the  lovely  realm  of  light ! 

O  tell  him  much  thereof,  as  thy  best  gift; 

He  understands  thee  well,  the  blind  can  see 

Within  himself,  though  painting  with  false  hues  ; 

And  to  the  blind  of  spirit  lend  thine  eye, 

Who,  seeing,  in  false  colors  paints  the  world. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Who  makes  one  wise,  bestows  on  him  a  world, 
Who  makes  one  good,  bestows  on  him  a  God. 


413 


rv. 

Heaven  the  Cradle  and  Grave  of  Man. 

If  thou  shouldst  see  one,  holding  in  his  hand 

A  casket,  shake  therefrom  a  thousand  pearls, 

Thou  wouldst  think  justly  :    "  They  were  all  therein  !  " 

The  house  from  which  thou  seest,  day  after  day, 

Children  come  trooping  forth,  thou  call'st  a  school ; 

The  place  where  hour  by  hour  water  runs 

From  the  still  rock,  —  thou  callest  it  a  spring, 

And  hence  inferrest  the  great  reservoir 

Which  shows  so  plainly  all  its  richness  here  ! 

A  child  can  tell,  in  Autumn,  when  his  step 

Rustles  among  the  fallen  leaves,  how  great, 

How  rich  the  tree  was,  that  shook  down  such  wealth  ! 

And  seest  thou  now  in  spring  so  many  flowers 

Strewed  o'er  the  earth,  seest  thou  on  earth  so  many 

Children  of  men,  more  than  the  ocean's  pearls, 

Thou  thinkest  justly :    they  were  once  therein, 

In  yonder  visibly  empty  blue  of  heaven  ! 

Calmly  they  live  therein,  there  lives  the  power 

That  brought  them  forth.     For  thou  canst  clearly  see, 

Out  of  an  empty  cask  there  runs  no  drop, 

Out  of  an  empty  casket  trickles  no  pearl,  — 

And  now  thy  wonder  pierces  holy  heaven 

That  like  a  bee-hive  infinitely  swarms  ! 

And  this,  too,  clearly  note  —  the  grave  of  man 

Is  heavenly  blue,  not  grassy-green  ;   indeed 

In  yonder  blue  man  really  is  buried, — 


4i4  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Ah  no,  not  buried,  only  taken  home 
To  his  father,  as  the  children  are  from  school. 
The  blind  man  hears  the  barberry  bushes  bloom, 
In  the  bee's  humming !     Pray,  see  thou  my  word  ! 


v. 

Life  the  great  Teacher. 

Man  has  full  many  a  riddle  here  to  solve, 
And  solves  them  not  by  highest  science,  no, 
Nor  yet  by  thought,  by  spirit,  or  by  love.  — 
But  easily  he  solves  them  all  by  life  ! 
For  what  a  child  is,  —  that  a  child  best  solves ; 
And  what  a  woman  is  man  learns  by  marriage, 
Treading  the  road  of  richly-gifted  years. 
Together  easily  they  clear  up  life  ! 
The  joys  and  sorrows  of  a  mortal  lot 
On  earth  !     Send  up  and  call  a  new  God  down, 
And  bid  him  suddenly  declare  to  thee  — 
The  nature  of  the  joy  that  parents  feel, 
Who  find  again  their  lost,  their  only  child, 
After  a  year.     Lo,  you  !   there  stands  the  God 
Dumb  as  a  very  dunce  !     Not  even  as  wise 
As  the  house-dog  who  mingles  in  their  joy ! 
The  God  must  let  himself  be  born  on  earth, 
Become  a  child,  grow  up  and  take  a  wife, 
Must  have  a  child  himself  and  lose  the  child, 
Ere,  with  all  heavenly  wisdom,  he  can  feel  — 
The  joy  of  rinding  a  lost  child  again. 
And  now,  how  many  thousand  finer  joys, 
And  purer  and  mysterious  ecstasies, 
The  human  race  has  lived  to  know  by  heart 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  415 

In  all  the  ever  new  and  changeful  years  ! 

And  if,  then,  it  demands  a  godlike  heart, 

A  godlike  mind,  even  to  feel  one's  self 

Born  as  a  human  being  on  the  earth,  — 

Surely  there  dwells  within  the  human  race 

No  other  being  than  the  highest  God. 

And  plain  it  is  :    Wherefore  he  lives  therein ! 

And  plain  it  is  :    How  thou  shouldst  live  therein  : 

As  He,  who  's  thou ;  as  thou,  too,  who  art  He. 


VI. 

The  blessedness  of  being  Needed. 

'T  is  being  needed  makes  the  father's  worth  ; 

'T  is  being  needed  makes  the  mother's  bliss  ; 

'T  is  being  needed  makes  up  woman's  life  ; 

And  just  the  best  resisteth  not  the  call, 

The  inner  calling  —  to  be  needed!     Hence 

She  bears  both  toil  and  trouble  cheerfully. 

Yet  who  more  blessings  gives  than  he  men  need ! 

Who  more  forlorn  than  he  whom  men  need  not ! 

How  many  would  the  human  circle  drop, 

If  all  fell  out  of  it  whom  men  scarce  need,  — 

Who  need,  themselves  —  God  and  the  world  and  men, 

And  throne  and  cottage,  water,  bread,  and  salt. 

Whatever  a  man  truly  needs,  in  haste 

And  without  stint  his  neighbor  offers  him, — 

The  woman  gives  him  her  long  hair  to  knit, 

The  miser  gives  him  wine  to  put  out  fires, 

The  lame  man  gives  his  dog  to  guide  the  blind  ; 

For  what  man  truly  needs >  that  verily 

Belongs  to  him  !   and  nothing  but  the  doubt 


416  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Whether  he  truly  needs  a  boon,  holds  back 

In  men  the  godlike  impulse  which  cries  "Give!" 

To  need  is  also,  then,  a  human  thing; 

To  need  is  for  the  poor  a  blessed  lot. 

It  reaches  bread  to  him  from  mercy's  hand, 

Necessity  gives  loves  to  loving  ones, 

Necessity  discloses  man  to  man. 

Whoso  needs  not,  lives  far  away  from  life  : 

He  is  a  stupid  fool  who  cheats  himself, 

Feeding  with  pride  his  void  and  craving  soul  ;  — 

Nay,  see,  he  's  dead,  —  one  of  the  coffined  dead  ! 

And  he  there  in  the  coffin,  were  he  now 

A  really  forlorn,  unneeded  one,  — 

Would  he  not,  dead  now  first  need  everything  ? 

Need  a  new  life  ?     Need  a  new  world  ?     Nay,  more, 

Would  he  not  need  a  breath  to  draw,  from  heaven  ? 

And  how  ?  does  not  God  need  him  greatly,  too, 

As  object  for  his  love,  for  all  his  gifts  ? 

He  who  needs  all  the  world,  —  thai  one  is  God ! 

Therefore  the  world  is  !  and  we,  needed  ones ! 

And  't  is  because  we  need  him,  He  loves  us,  — 

And  him,  because  he  needs  us,  him  we  love  ! 


VII. 
Pity  not  the  Sufferer  but  the  Sinner. 

"  Fain  would  I  live,  as  man  shall  one  day  live 
On  earth,  when  all  that  lay  upon  his  mind, 
And  all  that  stirred  him  in  his  godlike  heart, 
Worked  out,  blooms  round  him  gloriously  now, 
And  he  is  happy,  innocent,  and  free, 
Free  from  the  sight  and  knowledge  of  one  woe  !  " 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Such  is  thy  prayer.     Yet  is  't  quite  right  ?     For  see 

That  poor  boy  bears  a  basketful  of  wood  ; 

He  has  purloined  it  from  the  hedge.     But  now 

The  small  child  sinks  beneath  his  heavy  load ; 

To  his  sick  father  he  will  carry  it, 

Who  sits  there  freezing  in  the  cold,  dark  hut. 

He  has  his  father's  large,  old  jacket  on, 

The  long  sleeves  cover  well  his  little  hands, — 

He  has  no  cap  on  in  this  biting  cold. 

But  see,  his  good-will  keeps  him  warm  enough, 

He  hurries  on.     He  stumbles.     His  foot  bleeds,  — 

He  has  no  time ;  helpfulness  makes  him  brave. 

He  seeks  no  help, — himself  must  carry  it. 

He  tells  in  passing  how  the  darling  child 

Of  his  dead  sister,  —  though  she  never  had 

A  husband,  —  died  last  night,  and  father  says 

Now  he  has  nothing  more  to  love  on  earth  ! 

And  the  boy  weeps  to  think  that  all  his  toil 

Is  useless  now,  for  it  makes  no  one  glad. 

And  now  he  enters.     Soon  the  hut  grows  light, 

I  see  the  old  man  there,  and  the  dead  child 

Which  he,  in  the  best  place  such  close  room  yields, 

Has  laid  upon  his  bed  of  straw,  and  now 

He  stands  and  muses  :    how  from  these  old  boards 

And  rusty  nails,  with  nothing  but  his  axe 

Make  a  fit  coffin  for  the  darling  child  ? 

The  forester  meanwhile  has  tracked  the  boy, 

Without  a  greeting  enters,  hales  him  off; 

Feeling  his  guilt  the  boy  goes  willingly, 

And  silently  the  father  suffers  it ; 

Now  in  his  loneliness  he  folds  his  hands 

A  little  while,  then,  brightening,  sets  to  work. 

Yea.  truly  great,  beyond  conception  grand 

18*  AA 


417 


4i8  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Must  be  the  lot  of  good  humanity 

One  day,  an  unknown  life  must  dawn  on  it,  — 

Repaying  it  for  all  things  it  has  missed, 

All  that  oppress,  depress  and  crush  it  now, — 

Yea,  and  what  more  than  makes  it  whole  through  patience, 

Scorn,  energy,  exalted  grief  and  love  ! 

And  hast  thou  pity,  mountain-great,  good  soul, 

Think  well :   to  whom  't  is  due  !   and  dedicate  it 

To  them  before  all  others  who  have  none  : 

The  hard,  deceitful,  and  tyrannical. 

For  God  once  made  this  world  —  this  very  world 

Which  lives  to-day  —  in  tatters,  gold,  and  love. 

A  thunder-clap  might  strike  down  every  foe 

Of  human  kind,  the  earth  might  easily 

Yawn  and  devour  them,  legions  of  archangels 

Might  in  one  day  bring  wisdom,  weal,  and  joy 

To  all  earth's  dwellers,  —  yet  they  come  not  down. 

Humanity  must  choose  all  for  itself, 

Must  do  all,  —  but  can  ne'er  retrace  its  steps, 

Never  entirely  give  up  a  good, 

Nor  miss  one,  —  least  of  all :    its  childlike  heart ! 


VIII. 

Servant  of  all,  — free  of  all. 

The  pious  mind  implies  not  slavery, 
Neither  to  wear  nor  yet  impose  a  yoke. 
The  pious  man  alone  is  free  and  strong ; 
The  free  man  is  the  good  man  and  the  saint, 
He  wills  that  each  should  be  as  free  as  he ; 
And  who,  O  who  would  rather  men  should  lose, 
All  men,  their  reason,  liberty  of  thought, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Courage  and  righteousness  and  truth  and  heart 

And  gladness  and  prosperity  on  earth, 

And  he  himself  rule  o'er  a  race  of  slaves,  — 

Than  that  he  might  with  wisdom  rule  like  God, 

Whom  every  servant  faithfully  helps  rule, 

And  that  the  human  race  might  keep  unharmed 

Reason  and  freedom,  truth  and  righteousness 

And  heart  and  soul  and  joy  and  happiness  ! 

Keep  and  increase  !     How  many  times  would  Christ 

Still  suffer  willingly  upon  the  cross, 

Only  to  save  one  sinner,  the  last  man, 

The  Prodigal  son,  in  body  and  in  soul  ! 

Let  none  then  ever  speak  the  name  of  Christ, 

Who  will  not  try,  himself  too,  so  to  live, 

And  'so  to  each  surrender  everything. 


IX. 

Honor  all  Men. 

When  thou  hast  learned  the  world,  thou  knowest  well 

Naught  is  so  very  diverse  from  all  else, 

Nothing  is  wholly  to  be  reprobated, 

Naught  absolutely  excellent ;  naught  unique 

So  that  that  its  equal,  nay,  a  better  still 

May  not  be  found.     The  handsomest  of  women 

Is  not  removed  wide  as  the  poles  of  heaven 

In  all  things  from  her  ugly  sister.     Lo, 

She  is  a  wife,  she  is  a  mother  still, 

Still  fair  in  person,  even  if  not  in  face, 

She  meekly  does  her  work,  holds  friendly  speech  ! 

The  bad  lives  not  so  distant  from  the  good  : 

He  is  not  bad  to  all,  still  loves  himself, 


419 


420 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


His  wife  and  children  ;   even  the  robber  robs, 

To  carry  home  his  booty  to  some  one 

Whom  he  loves  more  than  all,  loves  even  more 

Than  his  own  happiness  and  peace  of  mind. 

An  old  dog  will  still  watch,  will  still  be  true, 

And  make  thee  sad,  he  was  so  little  while 

Thy  guest,  thy  friend.     The  feeble  eyes  still  see 

By  mind  and  thought  almost  as  well  as  sound  ones  ; 

A  rich  man  with  his  gold  still  suffers  want, 

A  king  grows  old  and  needs  another's  aid  ; 

The  poor  man  still  has  soul  and  body.     He 

Who  must  obey  all  others,  he  it  is 

Who  like  the  greatest  patriarch  of  old, 

Is  lord  of  children  and  his  own  strong  frame, 

The  best  of  kingdoms  !     And  the  man  who  wants 

A  hut,  a  well  to  fill  his  pitcher  at, 

The  very  water-pitcher  too,  he  turns 

At  length  to  his  great  Father,  faithfully 

Lifts  up  his  tearful  eyes  to  that  high  friend, 

And  thinks  of  all  now,  that  the  Father  has, 

Nay,  rather  thinks,  what  is  there  He  has  not  ? 

The  rich  and  poor,  and  him,  too,  with  the  rest,  — 

And  comes  into  possession  of  Him  now 

And  of  himself  more  sweetly,  utterly 

Than  he  had  e'er  possessed  himself  before. 

Humanity  is  knit  so  close  in  heart, 

By  virtues  and  by  faults,  by  good  and  bad, 

Possession,  want,  —  made  one  by  thousand  ties. 

And  lives  the  shameless  wretch,  who  would  make  his 

Alone  the  blessings  of  humanity  ? 

The  good  man  yearns  to  have  them  shared  by  each ! 

The  cool  heart  startled  learns  to  love  mankind; 

The  wise  learns  quietly :    to  be  content 

With  each,  and  fairly  honor  each  one's  worth. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  421 

x. 

Beauty  a  Snare. 

Full  many  a  one  has  beauty  led  astray, 

The  beauty  that  appeared  before  his  eyes  ; 

Yet  there  's  no  devious  path  and  no  abyss, 

Which  beauty  drives  not  its  possessors  to. 

All  human  blessings  ask  the  reins  and  yoke, 

Fire  does  and  fancy,  soft  compassion,  too, 

The  best  of  hearts,  even  love  and  honor's  self. 

Hold  others'  beauty  subject  to  thyself, 

Thou  conquerest  them  by  nature's  reverence. 

Thou  holdest  sway  o'er  thine  own  beauty,  too, 

When  thou  hast  once  renounced  the  idle  dream 

Of  blessing  men  with  transient  morning-red, 

With  the  mere  human  image,  here  an  hour 

And  gone  the  next.     Beauty  and  Folly  are 

Brother  and  sister.     But  of  Folly  born 

Are  the  twin-sisters  :    one's  own  misery 

And  mischief  to  one's  neighbor.     No  good  needs 

More  added  ones  than  beauty,  that  it  may 

Not  be  ridiculously  ruinous. 

It  needs  grace,  dignity,  and  modesty, 

It  needs  repose  and  pride  and  worth  and  love ; 

—  Which  scarce  the  happiest  one  acquires  late,  — 

Beauty,  like  every  other  image,  needs 

Life  and  a  human  heart.     "  For  a  rich  man 

How  hard  it  is  to  enter  into  heaven  !  " 

StiJl  harder  for  the  beautiful  !   and  then 

He  enters,  after  all,  no  other  one 

Than  every  simple,  good,  and  honest  man  ! 


422  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XI. 

Be  Master  of  Fortune. 

Much  it  concerns  the  world,  nay,  God  himself : 
The  question  in  what  mood,  what  inner  frame, 
Both  good  and  evil  fortune  find  their  man, 
That  each,  being  properly  received,  may  work, 
Just  as  it  should,  —  that  which  is  good  and  right  ! 
The  tidings  of  a  brother's  death  shall  lay 
The  sick  man  on  his  death-bed  ;   the  poor  wife 
Swoons  at  a  letter  in  the  postman's  hand, 
When  she  expects  her  husband's  punishment ; 
And  yet  the  cry  :    "  Thy  house  is  all  on  fire  !  " 
Awakes  not  the  dead-drunk  to  put  it  out  ! 
On  the  bad  man  ill-luck  falls  crushingly, 
To  the  good  man  malice  comes  scarcely  felt,  — 
Quenched  as  a  torch  that  drops  into  the  fount  ; 
Good  fortune  comes  quietly  as  a  gift 
From  out  the  world  of  wonders  to  still  hearts  ! 
Then  wilt  thou  take  life  rightly  at  all  times, 
Be  clear  in  mind  !   steadfast  and  pure  in  heart  ! 
The  smallest  ill  have  always,  in  thy  soul, 
Rightly  disposed,  the  means  of  remedy,  too, 
Always  at  hand,  have  it  appeased  with  hope, 
Contentment,  patience,  if  all  else  should  fail  ! 
Let  every  evening  find  thee  to  have  mastered 
Thy  best  good  fortune,  in  that  thou  hast  set 
Thyself,  thy  soul,  on  high  above  it  all. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  423 

XII. 

Make  the  best  of  what  is. 

"  How  quietly  thou  bearest  what  is  done  ! 

Unmurmuring,  pressing  on  to  something  new  !  " 

Canst  thou  repair  the  crushed  and  ruined  tower  ? 

Drive  back  the  ocean  to  its  thousand  springs  ? 

Then  let  the  ocean  be,  and  sail  it  wisely  ! 

The  past  event  is  now  an  element  ; 

The  words  and  deeds  of  man  are  in  like  wise 

An  ocean  flowing  from  a  thousand  springs, 

The  works  of  man,  too,  become  element,  — 

Let  it  be  land,  then,  and  drop  in  thy  seed. 

And  should  I  wish  my  wife  had  borne  to  me 

A  son,  instead  of  daughter  ;    should  I  only 

Wish  that  this  leaf,  just  fallen  from  the  tree 

Had  been  so  wafted  as  to  lie  one  inch 

From  where  it  is,  —  lo  !    then  I  foolishly 

Should  wish  a  wholly  different  world  had  come  ! 

Should  wish  the  sounding,  swift  obedience 

Of  faithful  elements  not  to  have  been, 

And  man's  free  art  and  soul  not  to  exist,  — 

Should  wish  that  God  were  not,  who  willed  it  so. 

And  were  a  piece  of  human  littleness 

—  Such  as  a  word  is,  and  the  greatest  deed, — 

In  this  perpetually  changing  world, 

With  man's  perpetually  changing  heart, 

Worth   having  God   not  be  !     Thou   smil'st  !      But  hear 

now  : 

What  has  been  till  to-day,  how  hinders  it 
That  thou  shouldst  bring  forth  what  is  purely  good 
Out  of  thy  heart  !    and  bring  it  into  life  ! 


424  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  propagate  the  good  !   and  extirpate 

The  evil  utterly,  and  leave  it  dead ! 

In  the  good  man  't  is  evil,  properly, 

First  wakes  the  opposing  good  and  beautiful, — 

As  the  red  rose  blooms  from  the  earth's  black  mould. 

This  thou  canst  always  do  resistlessly 

With  —  man's  omnipotence  —  with  all  thy  might. 


XIII. 

Enjoy  simply  the  common  Lot. 

Mistrust  whatever  is  extraordinary  ! 

For  that  which  is  uncommon  is  abortive, 

Something  that  could  not  think  greatly  enough 

To  be  as  simply  still  as  Nature  is, 

And  counting  itself  higher,  was  more  mean. 

The  world,  in  sooth,  is  always  like  a  child  ! 

The  old,  the  holy  immemorial  old, 

It  leaves  scarce  noticed,  like  the  sun  ;    as  child, 

Indeed,  has  many  a  one  looked  up  at  it, — 

That  is,  forsooth,  the  commonplace  !     'T  is  naught 

To  what  is  new  and  strange.     None  looks  at  that, 

None  points  it  out.     The  peoples  sweep  along 

In  close  and  uniform  ranks  before  our  eyes 

Like  a  long  troop  of  horsemen  richly  dight, 

But  him,  the  one  there  with  the  wild,  red  beard, 

Him  and  none  else  each  child  has  seen  !     A  king 

Was  hunchbacked,  —  and  on  finest  parchment  now 

Art  shows  the  hunchback  exquisitely  drawn  1 

Thus  the  world's  gallery  holds  strange  things  alone, 

Wonders  and  wars  and  tragic  histories, 

Baffled  designs  and  plots  confused  and  wild,  — 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  425 

Yea,  even  poor  insects  in  their  amber  coffin, 

And  poor  sea-spiders  that  have  turned  to  stone, 

The  gold-piece  pilfered  from  the  crumbling  mouth 

Of  the  dried  mummy,  and  the  humming-bird,  — 

That,  miserably  killed,  sad  beauty  wears, — 

This  it  sets  up,  and  goes  its  way  rejoicing, 

While  the  fair  palace  of  God's  common  things, 

Of  the  old  violets  and  the  brave  old  stars,  — 

Only  remains  the  house  of  heaven  and  earth, 

For  wholly  common  eyes  to  look  upon  ! 

I  know  no  happy  thing,  this  world  has  marked 

With  honorable  name,  and  though  it  shows 

Ever  so  great,  so  high,  so  beautiful. 

What  the  world  knows  not,  names  not,  that  was  good, 

Was  happy  ;   for  the  commonplace,  the  old, 

Primeval,  like  the  flowers  and  like  the  moon, 

That  always  look  the  same,  is  best  and  fairest ! 

Choose,  rather,   "to  be  one  day  quite  forgot," 

Than  to  have  one  day  a  distinguished  name, — 

And  live  uncommonly  —  unhappy  now  ! 


XIV. 
Live  out  a  'whole  Life. 

Life  must  be  filled  with  meaning,  pith,  and  worth  ! 
The  life  of  man  thou  must  experience  now, 
For  that,  that  only,  wast  thou  made  a  man. 
This  note,  then,  clearly  :    Life  itself  consists 
Of  coming  and  of  going,  of  losing,  rinding, 
Being  a  sweet  and  tender  child,  a  man, 
Of  growing  old,  being  a  gray  old  man, 
Of  seeing  death  and  dying.     Now  be  sure 


426  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Thou  art  not  human,  if  thou  dost  not  know 

Thyself,  thy  heart,  in  sorrow  and  in  joy, 

In  all  the  range  and  change  of  thine  own  mood 

And  of  the  fate  that  rules  thy  changeful  days. 

Whose  eyes  have  never  wept,  has  had  no  eyes, 

He  never  learned  to  see  as  men  do  see  ! 

Whose  heart  has  never  bled,  has  had  no  heart, 

It  never  learned  to  beat  as  man's  heart  beats. 

He  who  has  never  died — has  never  lived! 

The  always  wretched  all  too  little  knows 

Of  human  life,  only  the  darker  half,  — 

For  he  has  no  experience  of  its  joy  : 

The  always-happy  knows  too  little  of  it,  — 

For  he  has  no  experience  of  its  woe  ; 

The  sharp-eyed  weighs  the  world,  — himself  weighs  light ! 

The  false  is  tested  and  outwitted,  too  : 

The  bad  is  just  imprisoned  in  his  heart, 

Cut  off  from  all  the  manifold  of  life  ; 

The  good  man  is  assayed,  but  melted,  too, 

Is  much  misused,  as  faithful  servants  are, 

And  has  no  easy,  pleasant  life  until 

When  many  round  about  are  also  good. 

We  wait  and  watch  and  strive  for  even  life, 

Which,  like  the  stream,  no  longer  leaping  down 

From  the  steep  rock,  but  sweeping  broad  and  full, 

Bear  heaviest  burdens  lightly  on  its  breast. 

The  most  to  be  congratulated  is 

The  wholly  commonplace  and  simple  man, 

To  whom  there  's  nothing  wholly  commonplace. 

Who,  godlike,  and  yet  feeling  as  a  man 

Humanity's  sweet  limitations,  now 

Thinks  humanly  of  man  and  of  the  earth. 

The  dream  :    of  being  man,  is  a  god's  dream 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  427 

And  more  than  heavenly  !     For  that  dream  hast  cost 

The  greatest  art,  —  even  art's  greatest  work, 

The  greatest  Artist's  vast  expense  of  toil, 

The  lustre  of  the  round  and  azure  dome, 

The  gorgeous  decoration  of  the  day, 

Of  all  the  sunsets  and  the  sunrises, 

The  parting  curtain  of  the  starry  night, 

The  pains  of  thousand  tender  genii  : 

To  set  a  human  child  upon  her  lap,  — 

The  thousand  tears,  the  tender  beings  all 

To  sink  in  a  delusion,  —  in  the  grave,  — 

It  costs  the  very  God  almost  his  heart, 

Just  as  it  does  his  children,  for  their  sake, 

If  they  are  not  men  !   feeling  humanly  ! 


xv. 
Men  are  growing  on  into  Man. 

What  grows  will  ripen  yet.     This,  then,  is  truth  : 

Man  will  in  holy  nature  ripen,  too, 

Just  as  the  nut  does,  —  in  his  heaven-blue  shell, 

Just  as  the  cluster  does,  loaded  with  grapes, 

Just  as  the  child  does  in  the  mother's  womb. 

Out  of  all  poets  since  the  hoary  eld,  — 

Out  of  the  poems  and  the  legends  all,  — 

Out  of  all  sages  that  have  said  their  word, 

Out  of  their  words  themselves  and  prophecies,  — 

Out  of  all  painters,  who  have  wrought  their  sketch, 

Out  of  all  pictures,  even  of  those  passed  by,  — 

Out  of  all  good  men,  who  have  done  their  work, 

Out  of  all  champions,  who  have  fought  the  fight 

With  bodies,  souls,  dragons,  and  despotisms, 


428  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Down  to  this  hour,  and  out  of  all  the  treasures 

Which  all  shall  still  to  the  last  day  of  earth 

Conspire  to  swell  with  godlike  energies,  — 

Out  of  all  these  comes  man  !   the  only  one 

Among  all  beings,  that  forever  grows, 

While  rock  and  cloud,  lion  and  cypress-tree, 

Are  all  alike,  the  latest  and  the  first, 

Just  as  one  egg  is  like  all  other  eggs. 

Then  trust  not  him  who  turns  this  growing  shape, 

Called  man,  to  stone,  who  tears  him  into  parts, 

Reduces  to  its  roots  his  sum  of  power, 

Conjures  away  his  soul  and  stretches  him 

Upon  the  rack  of  the  dissecting-board,  — 

'T  is  a  dead  body  he  exhibits  thee  ! 

Not  a  live  congress  of  harmonious 

And  gloriously  co-operative  powers  ! 

No  !   wisely  thou  believest  him  who  says  : 

No  one  of  all  men  was  the  highest  man, 

Nor  will  his  teaching  be  the  very  last, 

Nor  will  his  work  remain  the  loveliest  ; 

Him  thou  believest  and  thou  lovest  him, 

Who  in  the  spirit  of  greatness  builds  thee  up 

The  great  man,  —  though  ideal  only  now, — 

A  sign  and  wonder  to  learn  patience  by, 

The  holy  patience  of  humanity, 

The  mighty  task  of  man !  and  human  hope  ! 

The  smile,  the  wrath  of  hollow  spirits  moves, 

It  is  the  sunny  smile  of  the  clear  soul  ! 

Look  on  more  calmly  now  to  see  one  build, 

Another  sail ;  him  in  the  temple  there 

Burn  pious  incense  to  his  human  gods  ; 

One  praise  ;  another  cavil ;  this  one  climb  ; 

That  other  fall  and  sink !     Look  on  them  all 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  429 

As  the  rough  metal  for  a  mighty  bell 
That  shall  one  day  have  the  full  ring  of  heaven, 
Wherein  each  grain  by  the  one  tone  divine 
Is  thrilled,  which  each  contributes  of  itself 
With  the  sweet  silvery  sound  of  the  whole  bell ! 


XVI. 

The  poor  rich  Man. 

Naught,  naught  on  earth  is  wretched  to  this  day- 

But  man  !  nor  ever  was  there  being  or  thing 

Wretched  on  earth  but  man,  —  alas,  how  long  ? 

I  prophesy  fair  days  to  come  on  earth, 

But  only  then,  when  each  shall  clearly  see  : 

The  life  of  man  upon  the  earth  is  not 

A  transitory,  but  a  lasting  one, 

A  festival  to  which  from  the  blue  heavens 

Come  millions,  far  and  near ;  a  standing  feast, 

A  holiday  of  spirits  and  a  Sabbath. 

And  now  already  these  uncounted  years 

The  palace  has  been  standing  gayly  dight 

With  branches  green  and  garlanded  with  flowers, 

Which  every  spring  God  must  replace  with  new, 

Because  not  yet,  not  yet  come  other  guests 

Than  cripples,  beggars,  sorrowing  ones  and  lame, 

Who  in  their  sorry  garments  dare  not  sit 

Before  such  golden  tables,  such  a  glow, 

Such  pomp  and  plenty,  on  the  golden  seats. 

Only  at  times  one  hears  this  man  and  that 

Say  softly  in  his  nearest  neighbor's  ear  : 

"  We  are  the  guests  !     The  palace  is  our  own, 

The  golden  tables  and  the  golden  chairs  ; 


430 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


Sit  down,  then  !     Eat  and  drink,  nor  merely  break 

A  bit  of  bread  for  hunger  from  the  board ! 

We  none  of  us  need  aught  but  self-respect, 

Self-consciousness :  of  what  we  are,  can  do 

And  must  do,  that  we  may  not  suffer  more. 

The  sun  there  burns  away  his  oil  in  vain, 

Vainly  the  stars  are  lighted  up  in  heaven, 

Till  light,  till  power  is  wakened  in  our  soul. 

Come  on,  ye  brave  musicians !     All  ye  birds ! 

Sing  me  these  gentlemen  and  ladies  gay; 

Ye  fountains  murmur,  rivers  swell  their  joy ; 

Thou  beauteous  earth,  beam  beauty  into  them  ! 

Thou  radiant,  refulgent,  rapturous  heaven, 

And  Sun,  thou  Sun,  O  speak  them  holy,  Thou 

Great,  godlike  universe,  O  speak  them  godlike 

And  great !     A  godlike  consciousness  alone 

Drives  all  exchangers,  all  who  deal  in  doves 

Out  of  the  Temple  ;  every  son  of  God, 

He  preaches  still  his  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 

And  round  him  all  the  people  sit  and  hear, 

And,  feasted  with  the  Spirit,  need  few  meats 

Out  of  the  baskets,  satisfied  with  love ; 

And  by  the  word  made  godly,  strong,  and  great, 

Endure  no  more  earthly  unworthiness, 

Creating  mightily  a  godlike  world." 

"  I  hunger  !  " —  "  To  the  table  steal  meanwhile, 

And  take  a  crumb  for  thee  and  one  for  me ! " 


THE  LA  YMAN'S  BRE  VI AR  Y.  43 1 

XVII. 

It  is  Good  to  have  been  Good. 

'T  is  better,  better  far :  to  have  been  good, 
Than  now  to  be  good.     To  have  been  good  once 
Shines  back  like  red  of  evening  on  thy  life  ; 
It  has  spread  out  a  solid  ground  for  thee, 
Has  sowed  the  seed  of  a  rich  harvest  there. 
The  having  been  good  helps  one  be  good  now 
And  happy;  while  the  having  once  been  bad 
Spoils  also  the  new  day,  and  the  new  soul    • 
That  yearns  for  better  things,  embarrasses 
The  good  deed,  hinders  thee  from  being  glad 
And  just !     It  holds  of  men  and  peoples,  too  ! 
Wicked  men's  works  are  like  dead  bodies  all, 
And  come  up  ghastly  on  the  sea  of  life  ! 
O  let  no  day  be  lost  then,  that  might  give 
Thy  life  a  bottom  so  that  flowers  shall  come 
Up  from  the  sea !     Not  to  be  good  and  pure 
And  wise  till  late,  can  never  make  thee  glad, 
But  only  good  and  wise.     A  bitter  grief 
Is  wisdom  without  joy.     Folly  itself, 
That  hits  the  right,  is  happier.     Early  then 
In  life's  day  to  do  good,  will  make  a  man 
In  life's  most  cloudy  evening  glad  and  blest. 


XVIII. 
Past  Joys  bitter,  — past  Woes  sweet. 

O  tell  me  this,  I  pray  thee,  why  past  joys 
Are  bitter  to  me,  and  past  sorrows  sweet ! 


432  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  has  then  memory  other  measurement 

Than  passing  time  ?     Does  it  transfigure  all, 

Conjuring  away  its  old  life  for  a  new? 

Why  weeps  Achilles  o'er  the  deeds  he  did, 

With  his  dear  friend  now  buried  in  the  earth? 

Why  does  he  now  weep  o'er  the  joyous  days 

Which  by  his  side  he  fought  through,  lived,  enjoyed? 

Why  does  the  youthful  bridegroom  fling  himself 

Upon  the  bridal  bed  of  his  dead  spouse  ? 

Each  past  delight  now  stings  him  to  the  heart, 

And  every  rapture  flown  is  now  a  pang, 

So  that  he^fain  would  flee  the  world  himself! 

(He  has  not  lost  it  —  for  it  had  gone  by 

Already,  and  lives  only  in  his  heart ;) 

He  stares  upon  the  moon  !  in  doubt  and  dread 

Sits  by  the  lonely  sea,  takes  in  his  hand, 

Full  of  amazement,  like  a  child,  the  flowers, 

Buries  his  senses  in  the  fragrant  cup, 

Loses  himself  in  thought  before  the  old  rocks, 

Starts  back,  and  now  a  star  darts  by  o'erhead 

And  shoots  down  rays  and  sprinkles  him  therewith  ! 

What  now  is  memory  then,  —  what  doeth  it  ? 

Memory  draws  back  the  curtain  that  o'erhangs 

Darkly  our  life,  reveals  to  us  the  bright 

Hall  of  the  gods,  wherein  all  things  we  did, 

All  things  we  ever  suffered,  came  to  pass  — - 

And  in  this  hall  all  is  so  magical, 

So  fair  and  charming,  wonderful  and  godlike, 

We  stand  ourselves  therein  so  heavenly-young, 

Our  loves  all  seem  therein  so  heavenly, 

So  fair,    so  dear,  so  deathless  in  their  love,  — 

The  holiness  of  being  dawns  on  us  ! 

What  we  have  suffered  with  such  godlike  shapes, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  433 

That  was  no  pain,  it  was  felicity, 

'T  was  life,  this  very,  holy  life  itself. 

And  what  enraptures  us,  is  now  first  found 

Wholly  unutterable,  and  behold, 

Where  overfulness  strikes  the  mortal  dumb, 

There  the  poor  being  finds  relief  in  tears,  — 

This  double  being,  that  is  like  a  glass 

Of  mountain  crystal :  crystal  —  and  a  glass  ! 


XIX. 

Reap  daily  the  Harvest  of  Humanity,       + 

Thou  reapest  bread  from  off  thy  field  of  wheat 

Once  every  year.     Come,  I  will  show  thee  now 

A  harvest  thou  canst  gather  every  day, 

And  where  thou  hast  not  sowed,  but  where  the  stalks 

Come  up  to  meet  thee,  shaking  off  their  grains. 

Go  thou  and  reap  now  on  the  human  field 

That  bread,  for  which  thou  livest  on  the  earth. 

'T  is  the  true  intercourse  with  human  kind  : 

To  gain  from  each  life-wisdom  studiously, 

To  learn  from  each  one  what  he  knows,  can  do, 

Has  done,  and  what  has  been  his  special  lot. 

He  who  must  teach  thee  loves  to  be  thy  friend, 

And  grows  by  teaching  better  in  his  heart, 

Pondering  in  silence  faults,  and  what  is  right ! 

They  all  are  many  thousand  times  more  wise, 

Experienced,  than  one.     Thou  art  but  one  ! 

No  one  man's  course  in  life  is  like  another's. 

Musing  on  many  a  lot  thou  seest  God's  face  ! 

Much  slighted  people,  all  respect  for  thee  ! 

Because  thou  dwell'st  in  hovels,  goest  in  rags,  — 

19  B  B 


434 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY, 


Because  thy  hands  are  black  and  grimed  with  earth,  — 

Because  thy  face  is  browned  with  noonday  suns,  — 

Because  thy  maidens  bear  the  scent  of  herbs 

And  flowers,  they  walked  in,  as  they  mowed  the  grain, 

Therefore,  forsooth,  the  God  lives  not  in  thee  ? 

Therefore  come  not  the  sons  of  God  and  all 

Beauty  and  greatness  out  from  thee  alone— — 

My  breath  stops  in  me  for  astonishment, 

My  eyes  run  down  with  tears,  my  thoughts  are  gone, 

I  am  imprisoned,  stifled  in  the  flowers, 

Lost  like  a  tone  in  thousand  melodies  ! 


XX. 

The  Mirror  of  the  Lake  a  Mirror  of  the  Soul. 

In  the  clear  lake  the  heavens  are  mirrored  here, 

O'erspreading  with  their  blue  the  water's  black 

As  if  it  were  of  crystal,  yea  of  diamond, 

So  without  chasm  or  alarming  crack 

It  bears  upon  it  such  enormous  load : 

The  rocks  and  heavy  masses  of  the  hills, 

The  huge  old  maples  with  their  ponderous  weight, 

And  such  up-piled  thick  foliage,  like  light  cloud 

That  softly  glides  o'er  all  the  images. 

Yonder  green  eminence  with  its  green  graves, 

And  with  its  open  grave,  inverted  hangs, 

In  this  enchanted  picture,  as  in  air ; 

And  that  dead  man's  sad  burial,  which  o'erhead 

Goes  on  with  loud,  sharp  utterance,  —  it  goes  on 

In  tender,  heavenly  beauty  down  below!  — 

That  mirror  be  a  mirror  of  thy  soul ! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  435 

So  gently  may  it  take  the  forms  of  earth  ! 
So  lightly  let  it  bear  the  outward  load, 
So  softly  glorify  the  outward  woe, 
So  purely  hold  the  outer  loveliness, 
So  peacefully  preserve  the  open  clear! 


XXI. 

Man  is  what  God  yearned  to  be. 

Right  well  the  universal  spirit  knows 

What  love  is,  what  is  death,  what  life,  and  power, 

What  moves  the  stars  upon  their  silent  course, 

What  wakes  and  clothes  in  beauty  earth's  fair  flowers. 

As  if  the  best  of  mothers  trained  them  up, 

As  if  a  God  had  painted  them,  who  knew 

Only  to  paint,  so  cunningly  he  paints, 

Colors  so  beautiful  beyond  compare 

He  knows  to  mix.     Thou,  thou  hast  known  all  this 

Long  since  as  spirit,  or  wilt  know  it  anew, 

When  thou  art  naught  but  spirit,  —  naught  but  love,  — 

Art  nothing  but  Creator ;    for  to  love 

Is  only  to  create.     So  live  thou  now 

In  plenitude  of  love,  and  before  all 

Create  as  man  things  human :    make  thyself 

Man  all  complete  in  spotless  purity, 

And  so  let  God  in  thee  be  perfect  man. 

God  cannot  be  a  child  now,  cannot  sleep, — 

Too  great  to  be  a  child,  for  sleep  too  wakeful ; 

God  cannot,  now,  lift  from  the  mother's  lap 

And  kiss  a  child,  as  father,  —  say  :    I  can  ; 

God  cannot  share  the  house-rule  with  a  wife, 

He  cannot  bury  a  wife,  —  say  thou:    I  can; 


436  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

He  cannot  suffer  sorrow,  —  say  :    I  can  ; 

God  cannot  die,  now,  say  thou :   but  I  can  ! 

Yet  do  not  say  it  only  !     Let  thy  "  can  " 

Mean  power  to  do  divinely  what  thou  say'st ! 

If  now  thou  truly  canst,  canst  master  this, 

How  God  will  be  a  man,  then  canst  thou  do 

And  master  what  a  human  make  implies  ; 

And  were  it  wholly  mean  and  miserable 

"To  be  a  man,"  nothing  so  beautiful 

So  glorious  and  so  holy  as  it  is 

In  pure  and  unconstrained  activity, — 

If  thou  canst  master  that,  to  be  a  man, 

Then  canst  thou  master  things  diviner !     Now  then 

Prove  it!  —  The  highest  art,  —  a  long  life-long 

In  every  fortune  and  in  every  change. 


XXII. 

Moral  Beaiity  surviving  physical. 

The  beauteous  mother,  plunging  through  the  flames, 

Has  happily  snatched  her  beauteous  child  from  death, 

For  lo,  unscathed,  the  fair  girl  lives  to  her ; 

Ye't  has  the  child's  salvation  cost  the  mother 

Her  charms,  her  beauty,  and  her  loveliness, 

And  being  herself  still  young,  she  must,  henceforth, 

Be  ugly  and  disfigured  for  long  years. 

Yonder  she  sits  now  with  her  maiden,  healed, 

Hid  in  the  woods,  shunning  the  sight  of  men. 

"  Ah,  mother  dearest !   how  changed  thy  looks,  alas  ! 

Say,  art  thou  then  my  own  dear  mother  still  ? " 

So  asks  the  child  and  makes  her  glad  to  think 

Of  her  good  deed,  and  makes  her  sad  to  think 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  437 

Not  just  of  that  most  bitter  loss  of  hers,  — 

(For  beauty  is  not  a  good  woman's  all), 

No,  of  the  fire's  rude-  violence  to  her, 

For  ugliness  a  woman  ill  can  bear. 

There  then  she  sits,  her  lips  severely  closed, 

And  gazes  on  her  child.     Pure  tenderness 

And  ardent  love  in  which  she  wellnigh  melts, 

Break  from  her  brimming  eyes  and  overflow 

Her  face  with  radiance,  while  soft,  heavenly  meekness 

And  darkening  bitterness  and  angels'  wrath, 

Pity,  woe,  envy,  glad  congratulation, 

Serenity  of  patience,  helplessness, 

Rapture,  and  wretchedness,  —  all  these  by  turns 

Flit  to  and  fro  o'er  beauty's  faded  lines, 

And  make  the  sad  one  seem  a  magic  shape. 

"Ah,  had  I  perished  in  the  flames,"  —  she  thinks, — 

"  Now  were  I  wholly  ashes  !   and  if  buried, 

Then  were  I  wholly  dust !   but  living  thus, 

I  am  no  woman  more,  —  yet  I  am  mother  ! 

And  is  it  enoitgh,  our  children  shoiild  grow  up 

To  be  what  we  are  not,  and  never  were? 

Or  ceased  to  be  I    Shall  not  each  be  himself? 

May  I  be  good  and  loving,  but  no  more  ?  " 

Then  softly  I  drew  near  to  her  and  said 

With  serious  tone  :     "  They  've   caught  this  very  night 

The  man  who  fired  your  house  :  —  none  else  than  he, 

The  handsome  man,  who  sought  thy  hand  in  vain. 

Start  not,  good  soul,  with  terror  !   rather  say  : 

What  shall  the  man  do,  who  reaps  misery 

For  his  misdeed  ?     For  misdeeds,  misery  ! 

He  whom  misfortune  meets  upon  the  path 

Of  goodness,  has  a  comfort  left  him  still : 

The  flame  must  shine  around  him  evermore 


438  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

And  brighten  all  his  way,  which  urged  him  on 

To  his  good  deed.     If  once  that  fire  goes  down, 

Then  sinks  his  courage,  as  his  life,  grows  dark; 

But  if  he  stirs  it  up,  God  kindly  gives  him 

A  sense  of  heaven,  that  bides  in  every  fate. 

And  to  have  done  a  good  deed,  shields  a  man 

Like  a  divine  hand  softly  leading  him 

Through  all  disaster  peacefully  to  death. 

The  misery  of  the  bad  man  is  the  chain 

That  draws  him  back  to  the  ill-fated  hour 

Of  his  bad  deed  and  holds  him  fast  to  it, 

So  that  he  cannot  take  a  forward  step, 

Nor  strive  to  do  so,  but  with  pain  and  blood  ; 

And  like  a  monstrous  beast  he  wears  a  ring 

Clamped  through  his  soul,  that  burns  him  stingingly, 

Yet  soothingly  —  for  't  is  a  heavenly  fire. 

Lo  now,  —  they  lead  him  off  to  prison  there, 

The  handsome  youth  !     Wilt  thou  exchange  with  him  ? 


XXIII. 
Over -anxiety. 

What  a  small  game,  forsooth,  does  each  man  play 

Daily,  to  win  this  little  life  of  his, 

To  buy  himself  therewith  the  greater  life  ! 

And  yet  all  men  live  on  in  cheerful  trust 

Despite  the  fact  that  each  one's  bread  and  salt, 

His  light,  his  water,  and  his  very  joy 

Must  fall  out  of  the  empty  air  from  heaven  ! 

And  falls  from  the  rich  heaven  day  after  day  ! 

They  none  of  them  have  aught,  how  rich,  how  great, 

How  honorable  soever  among  men, 


THE  LA.YMAWS  BREVIARY.  439 

But  what  the  old  earth,  what  humanity 
From  need  or  pleasure  grants  to  each  of  them  ! 
And  that  they  live  with,  that  they  live  upon 
As  trustful,  —  as  the  child  upon  its  mother ! 


XXIV. 
Nature's  Lesson  of  Contentment. 

Contented  Nature  lives  within  herself 

A  life  of  blessedness.     What  she  to-day 

Is  not,  that  was  she  yesterday,  and  what 

She  was  not  yesterday,  that  will  she  be 

To-morrow  and  through  all  the  coming  time. 

And  this  man  sees  !     This  should  he  ne'er  forget ; 

An  easy  problem  has  he  here  to  solve, 

Things  very  near  each  other  to  unite  : 

Namely,  that  he  is  man  and  nature  too, 

That  he  is  man  in  nature  and  that  nature 

Is  man  in  him.     Just  this  and  nothing  more. 

And  yet  it  seems  to  him  a  giant  work,  — 

What  even  a  goose,  what  even  an  ass  can  do : 

She,  gabbling,  is  a  goose,  —  and  nature,  too, 

He,  singing,  is  glad  nature  and  an  ass, 

And  takes  no  thought  about  those  holy  powers, 

Which,  —  as  the  earth  blooms  up  in  earthly  heaps,- 

Have  now  bloomed  out  into  his  own  gray  shape. 

In  man  will  Nature  know  not  this  alone, 

That  she  is  man  ;  in  man,  too,  will  she  know 

That  man  is  nature,  that  she  is  herself, 

And  yet,  withal,  will  gladly  be  a  man. 

'T  is  nature's  wisdom,  human  wisdom  ;  thence 

Proceeds  what  makes  man  good  and  prosperous. 


440  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

If  now  the  flowers  should  all  begin  to  weep  : 

"  Ah  Heaven,  we  flowers  are  flowers,  we  are  here, 

And  know  not  whence  we  come,  or  why  we  are, 

Whither  we  go,  what  we  shall  one  day  be,  —  " 

And  if  the  leaves  should  all  begin  to  moan, 

And  all  the  birds  should  cry  up  in  the  air, 

And  all  the  lions  in  the  woods  should  roar, 

And  all  the  crocodiles  howl  frightfully : 

Ah,  heaven,  good  heavens,  say  to  us  what  we  are  ; 

Tell  us,  what  we  shall  one  day  be,  O  Heaven  ! 

And  if  the  clouds  should  weep  now  :    we  are  clouds  ! 

And  if  the  stars  should  murmur  :    we  are  stars  ! 

And  even  the  sun  should  cry  :    "  I  am  the  sun,  — 

How  terrible  !   who  shall  deliver  us 

From  the  body  of  this  death  !  "     Wouldst  thou  not  laugh, 

And  rightfully,  at  all  these  fools,  O  man  ? 

And  yet  art  thou  the  greatest  of  all  fools, 

When  thou  as  man  complainest  so  of  man. 

How  peaceful  are  the  stars  above  there  :    stars  ! 

How  peaceful  are  the  clouds  above  there  :    clouds  ! 

And  their  blest  murmur  is  the  thunder's  voice  ! 

Only  a  deathless  being  Nature  has. 

She  has  not  even  a  second  life.     Therewith 

Be  man  contented.     And  whoever  only 

Hopes  for  a  second  life,  no  third,  no  fourth, 

No  thousandth  and  no  hundred-thousandth  life, 

No  such  immortal  life  as  Nature  has, 

Such  man  would  gladly  fall  away  from  life 

And  cannot !     Nay,  —  't  is  what  he  never  shall  ; 

And  each  must  be  immortal,  as  she  is  ! 

With  her,  part  of  her,  in  her  golden  halls. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  441 

xxv. 

The  T^en  Prohibitions,  and  the  One  Commandment. 

The  ten  commandments  we  from  Moses  have 
Are  only  prohibitions,  not  commands, 
What  Law  forbids  they  tell,  not  what  Love  bids^ 
Yet  high  as  heaven  above  us  still  they  stand  ! 
The  first  and  second  and  third  are  answered  for ; 
The  fourth  we  are  immersed  in  to  the  heart. 
Before  the  fifth :    "  Man  !   thou  shalt  not  kill  man  ! " 
We  stand  confounded  as  before  a  wall 
Of  rock  that  barricades  our  further  course. 
And  not  one  step  humanity  can  take 
Till  this,  "  Thou  shalt  not  kill !  "  is  clone  away, 
And  murder  —  war  —  and  menace,  —  laid  aside. 
Three  thousand  years  it  took  humanity 
Only  to  set  its  face  'gainst  death  by  man ! 
Three  thousand  years  ere  that  is  laid  away 
In  the  old  rubbish-chamber  of  the  earth  ! 
Three  thousand  years  seem  needed  three  times  over 
The  sixth  of  these  forbiddings  to  shake  off, 
Beauty  from  love  clearly  distinguishing  : 
No  more  to  say,  "  Who  pleases  me  is  mine  ! " 
Nor  yet  to  think,  "  Whom  /  please,  he  is  mine  !  " 
The  seventh,  eighth,  ninth,  and  tenth,  are  all  of  them 
Essentially  uprooted  with  the  sixth. 
Then,  and  not  till  then,  ope  the  gates  of  love  ! 
A  mount  appears  far  distant,  far  ahead, 
Where  Jesus  stands  and  still  doth  preach,  preach,  preach. 
Then  from  the  mountain  to  each  separate  home,  — 
To  every  heart,  —  to  each  pure  bridal  bed,  — 
To  every  word,  —  again  is  far,  far,  far  ! 
I9* 


442  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Then  first  begin  the  holy  depths  of  love 

Ineffable,  and  after  the  creation 

Of  Love,  —  and  not  till  then,  comes  Life  itself,  — 

Pure  —  beautiful  —  worthy  humanity, 

And  heavenly  glad,  —  upon  the  ancient  earth  ! 

Because  God,  by  his  power  of  vision,  saw 

One  man,  one  pair   alone,  by  this  't  was  made 

A  Paradise.     'T  is  Paradise  again, 

When  only  man,  one  pair,  is  on  the  earth. 

And  when  again  one  man  is  on  the  earth, 

Woman  and  man,  as  once  in  Paradise, 

The  many  will  have  risen  into  one  ! 

Into  a  hand  all  strength  will  then  have  fused, 

And  what  he  will,  that  the  one  man  can  do. 

I  pray  beforehand,  then,  good  people  all, 

To  leave  unvexed  the  preacher  on  his  mount. 

Yet  this  I  swear  to,  surely  as  the  old, 

Old  men  and  times,  shall  live  again  no  more  : 

Soon,  soon  will  God  be  all !     Soon  God  will  live  ! 

And  now  when  he  comes  down  to  you,  into  you, 

And  hid  in  twofold,  threefold,  million-fold 

Guises,  as  man,  as  all  men,  lives  with  you  ; 

He  will  not  wear  the  triple  crown  of  gold, 

Nor  thrust  an  order  in  his  button-hole, 

Will  not  be  called  the  Lord  of  Bethlehem, 

Nor  sing  in  cloisters,  by  no  woman  blest ; 

He  will  not  know  the  art  of  shooting  guns, 

To  hang  a  man,  or  break  him  on  the  wheel ; 

He  will  not  chisel  you  the  naked  Venus, 

He  will  not  paint  for  you  the  Fornarina, 

He  knows  her  not,  knows  only  woman,  child  ; 

The  unalloyed  delight  of  the  pure  soul, 

And  what  this  life  of  beauty  brings  with  it, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  443 

That  shall  you  freely,  fearlessly  enjoy. 

He  will  not  poison  in  the  bridal  bed 

The  bridegroom's  lovely  bride,  he  will  not  strip 

The  spring-time  of  its  flowers,  nor  blot  from  heaven 

The  morning  red,  nor  scare  the  lark  away 

Out  of  its  nest,  nor  lay,  with  sudden  rage, 

The  hatchet  to  the  roots  of  the  old  vines 

On  all  the  mountains,  will  not  crush  the  worm 

That  spins  the  golden  silk,  nor  yet  will  he 

Shatter  to  pieces  all  the  flutes  and  harps, 

Nor  from  the  lips  of  any  child  will  he 

Snatch  the  sweet  strawberry,  nor  wrench  the  ball 

From  the  boy's  hand,  —  see  God  already  live  ! 

Man,  live  already  thou  with  God's  glad  heart ! 

Behold  how  near  and  real  and  kind  he  is,  — 

The  Father  of  the  flowers  is  childhood's  friend  ! 

A  children's-friend  is  friend  to  all  glad  things  ! 


XXVI. 

Man's  three  Foes :  Pain,  Fate,  and  early  Death. 

Three  things  alone  still  bring  distress  on  man  : 
Sorrow  and  destiny  and  early  death. 
All  woes  are  in  this  trefoil  gathered  up, 
Even  tyranny  and  fawning  fear  of  priests. 
One  time  I  saw  a  man  of  eighty  years, 
As  lively  as  a  youth,  and  always  well, 
And  he  had  never  known  what  sorrow  was. 
Thus  had  he  travelled  on  in  the  right  way,  — 
By  wisdom,  or  hap-hazard,  travelled  on,  — 
So  then  there  was  at  that  time  a  right  way  ! 
That  which  has  ever  prospered  to  one  man, 


444  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

Shall  the  more  prosper  to  humanity. 

Then  strike  out  sorrow  from  the  lot  of  men, 

And  strike  out  from  their  lot  untimely  death, — 

Sure  in  advance  that  they  will  find  the  way. 

But  Fate,  that  is  the  fear  of  liberty, 

Of  man  himself  and  other  beings  all, 

Of  the  departed,  as  of  living  ones, 

And  even  of  Nature.     What  all  these  have  done, 

Becomes  to  each  a  chain  of  adamant, 

Which  only  the  death-daring  spirit  rends. 

Freedom  from  fault  and  error,  that  alone 

Absolves  from  fate  ;    errors  and  faults  of  thine,  — 

Errors  and  faults  as  well  of  other  men  ! 

But  who,  now,  errs  and  sins  ?     Ah,  love  alone, 

In  anxious  tremulous  precipitancy. 

For  man  must  understand  even  how  to  love  ! 

Who  is  it  errs  then  ?     Holy  reason  does, 

In  the  eclipse  of  dark  humanity  ! 

And  erring  is  transgression  against  reason, — 

The  godlike  power  resembling  love  of  good,  — 

And  failing  is  transgression  'gainst  the  soul. 

Naught  then  but  knowledge  saves  humanity  ! 

The  holy  science,  the  complete  acquaintance 

Of  open  nature,  of  the  open  man  ; 

Even  the  knowing  this  :    that  holy  love 

Can  master  lesser  arts  upon  the  earth  : 

"  To  rescue  man  from  death  and  banish  fate  ! " 

The  highest  science  teaches  how  to  live, 

And  for  an  end  to  live  none  learns  but  man. 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  445 

XXVII. 

Life  is  more  than  the  Means  of  Life. 

A  hall  alone  is  not  a  festival, 

Nor  are  flute,  organ,  trumpet,  viol,  harp, 

As  yet  a  tone  ;   the  noble  human  voice 

Itself  no  music  is,  no  stirring   song! 

A  camphor-wood,  a  hill  of  golden  brimstone, 

Are  yet  no  fireworks,  whole  nations  are 

Not  yet  a  battle  ;   and  sun,  moon,  and  stars 

Together  with  this  earth,  are  not  the  life 

So  much  as  of  a  mole  or  of  a  bee,  — 

Or  of  a  mouse  happily  lying-in,  — 

Although  their  life  sounds  from  the  universe, 

As  from  an  organ  sounds  a  gentle  tone. 

Nor  yet  is  wisdom  life  ;   wisdom  is  only 

Life's  eye  and  doctrine.     Even  love  itself,  — 

That  is  not  life,  only  the  spirit  of  life. 

And  therefore,  as  the  music  from  a  flute 

Is  worth  far  more  than  the  whole  flute  itself, 

While  it  is  wood  as  yet  and  called  a  flute,  — 

So  is  thy  life  better  than  all  the  world  ! 

The  elements  better  than  the  great  world-clock 

Which  from  its  holy  works  strikes  out  and  plays 

Thy  life  !     And  therefore  highly  prize  thy  life, 

O  man,  both  in  thyself  and  every  man  ! 

Tread  not  the  violet  willingly  to  death  ! 

Help  every  being  nobly  live  its  life  ; 

Thou  honorest  not  the  living  after  all 

So  much  as  does  that  sense-endowed  God's-work, 

Which  is  and  moves  for  them,  and  stirs  and  roars. 


446  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


XXVIII. 

Each  Man  can  have  unique  Bliss. 

His  best  gifts  God  bestows  on  every  one, 

And  leaves  to  worried  sense  by  multitudes 

Of  the  same  kind  to  vex  and  craze  itself 

Out  of  its  life  and  soul !     Well,  in  thy  sphere 

Thou  canst  possess  whate'er  the  greatest  has. 

Well,  —  thou  canst  have  one  cat,  like  the  famed  cat 

Of  Mahomet ;   and  one  as  faithful  dog 

As  that  Ulysses  had.     But  keep  ten  dogs, 

And  all  the  ten  are  not  so  true  to  thee 

As  one,  for  even  the  very  dog  too  knows 

What  faithful  means  :   grateful  for  special  love  ; 

But  thy  ten  dogs  are  not  a  darling  dog. 

Thou  canst  have  roses  too,  more  beautiful 

Than  which  the  Shah  of  Persia  never  saw  ; 

One  great,  bright,  silver-beaming  star  in  heaven 

Shining  more  gloriously  than  the  sun 

E'er  shone  on  Crresus  ;   and  one  wife  so  fair, 

So  dear,  so  true,  so  blessed  in  her  children, 

No  Pasha  ever  bought  so  beautiful 

For  heavy  gold  ;  and  water  cystal-clear,  — 

More  sparkling,  pure,  refreshing,  never  gushed 

In  Chios  from  old  Homer's  chosen  spring ; 

And  daughters,  blooming  maidens  canst  thou  have, 

Dearer  than  ever  proudest  empress  rocked ; 

And  boys  than  whom  not  Moses  to  his  breast 

Clasped  fairer  ones.     A  frame  can  gladden  thee 

With  health  and  lightness,  buoyant  and  unfelt, 

Better  than  ever  an  Achilles  knew  ; 

And  thou  canst  sleep  a  light,  sweet,  strengthening  sleep, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  447 

And  thou  canst  dream  deep,  sweet,  and  tender  dreams, 

Such  as  ne'er  Plato  had,  nor  Adam,  when 

The  Lord  of  Heaven  took  woman  from  his  soul; 

And  thou  canst  have  a  cottage,  still  and  cool 

And  friendly,  as  Caserta  cannot  boast,  — 

And  merriment  and  love  and  joy  therein, 

As  ever  ear  in  Zarskoisielo  hears  ; 

Thou  in  thy  house  canst  be  a  patriarch, 

As  never  people  yet  obeyed  a  king, 

Loved  and  was  loved,  and  eyed  him  hourly,  gladly ! 

A  fresh  eye  can  array  the  world  for  thee 

In  colors  bright  as  childhood  ever  saw  ; 

And  life-long  ecstasy,  day  after  day, 

A  soul  can  give  thee  to  experience 

In  this  enchanted,  beauteous  universe, 

In  its  inhabitants  and  changing  scenes, 

Divine,  as  God  himself  doth  feel  in  man ! 

And  if  the  great  and  simple  goods  of  life 

Content  thee  not,  nor  the  fair  life  itself 

That  comes  to  thee  with  them  and  out  of  them, 

As  fragrance,  grace  and  garlands  come  from  flowers,  — 

O  man,  then  this  is  what  thy  mood  declares  : 

Thou  hast  perhaps  spoiled  for  thyself  the  goods 

By  idle  folly,  by  thy  own  heart's  fault,  — 

Thou  hast  them  not !     Yet,  yet,  thou  still  hast  time, 

O  go,  go,  earn  these  blessings  for  thyself,  — 

Yet  needst  thou  not  go  far  :    into  thyself 

Come  home  and  make  thee  ready,  fit  for  them ! 


448  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXIX. 

Stay  at  Home. 

Leave  not  thy  home  !     Not  to  be  gone  for  years  ! 
Else  were  it  better  for  thee,  thou  should'st  die, 
And  find  a  new  one  that  is  dear  to  thee. 
Man  can  have  nothing  better  than  a  home : 
A  place  which  is  to  him,  from  childhood's  hour, 
No  new  one,  but  a  sweet,  familiar  friend, 
Life's  Eden,  the  old  Paradise  z/«-lost, 
Wherein  the  earliest  trees  still  stand  and  bloom, 
Where  the  old  fountains  gurgle,  and  the  same 
First  holy  sun,  the  sun  of  childhood,  beams 
Down  through  the  very  same  clear  blue  of  heaven, 
Where  earth  became  to  him  a  Father's  house. 
If  thou  should'st  leave  thy  home,  why  then  expect 
It  will,  meanwhile,  be.  buried  from  thy  sight, 
That  the  whole  world  will  become  strange  to  thee. 
In  thy  home  only  knowest  thou  the  men, 
Because  thou  know'st  the  children,  in  thy  house 
Alone  thy  mood  is  mild,  and  hardness  there 
Is  but  its  name,  because  all  know  thee  there. 
Thou  hast  no  dignity  there  which  hinders  thee. 
There,  meritless,  envy  assails  thee  not, 
Only  at  home  learn'st  thou  the  lot  of  man, 
And  ways  of  Providence  ;    for  human  works 
And  thoughts  and  fortunes  here  are  plain  to  thee. 
Abroad  thou  hardly  findest  God  himself, 
Save  as  the  sculptor,  painter,  millionnaire  ! 
Wilt  see  the  ruined  homes  of  ancient  men, 
Wilt  look  upon  the  home  of  all  mankind, 
Then  visit  what,  for  thee,  are  barren  lands! 
Wilt  thou  be  learne'd,  then  search  cities  through! 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  449 

Wilt  thou  get  gold,  islands  and  seas  explore  ! 

Wilt  thou  an  office,  follow  where  it  leads  ! 

Yet  say,  is  office,  gold,  or  knowledge,  life? 

Seek'st  thou  thy  life,  the  highest:    to  be  man, — 

Stay  in  thy  home !     Not  even  stir  thy  foot 

From  out  thy  birthplace,  stay,  if  possible, 

In  the  paternal  house,  and  on  the  spot 

Where  thou  wast  born,  there  also  one  day  die. 

O  blest,  to  whom  parental  industry 

And  virtue  one  day  leaves  a  happy  home  ! 

Whose  life  springs  forth  out  of  a  sire's  good  name, 

As  a  new  fruit  grows  on  the  same  old  tree! 

And  fortunate  the  daughter,  who,  not  far 

From  home  and  mother  by  her  husband  led, 

Can  secretly  slip  home  to  her  at  eve 

To  the  old  hearth  whereon  the  fire  still  burns, 

As  if  it  never  had  been  quenched  ;   who  can 

With  few  swift  steps  bear  every  little  grief 

And  each  great  pleasure,  thereby  lightening  both, 

To  mother's  heart,  and  so  enjoy,  herself, 

The  greatest  joy,  and  give  the  greatest  joy 

To  the  dear  ones !   who  so  mysteriously 

And  strangely  altered,  now,  in  silver  locks, 

Love  her  more  tenderly  and  touchingly  ! 

Who,  at  the  selfsame  table  where  she  sat, 

And  on  the  selfsame  chair,  now  sets  her  child, — 

Where  once  her  mother,  too,  sat  opposite  ; 

While  the  old  holy  form  still  looks  on  both, 

And  notices  with  rapture,  —  how  they  live  ! 

And  grow!     How  grows  the  holy  thing  called  life! 

And  blessed  is  it,  if  the  old  sire,  too,  is 

Himself  the  son,  the  child,  of  the  old  house, 

Fresh  as  a  well-spring  in  the  same  old  spot! 


450  THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 

XXX. 

Live  to  Learn,  and  learn  to  Live. 

Whoso  lives  wisely,  he  alone  is  wise. 

But  live  thou  must,  must  mingle  in  the  throng 

Of  men  with  all  thy  heart  and  soul  and  strength, 

And  bravely  help  them  win  the  fight  of  life  ! 

Looking  out  idly  down  from  a  watch-tower, 

Thou  feelest  wounds  and  conflict,  pain,  and  foe, 

But  friend  and  helper,  joy  and  victory  not. 

Lo,  wisdom  is  enough  in  this  wide  world ! 

Beneath  this  veil  of  Nature  round  about, 

Glows  love  unwearied,  power  defiant  swells, 

The  artistic  Spirit  works  in  all  and  thee, 

The  wind  has  skill  thou  comprehendest  not, 

And  truth  and  freedom  are  the  source  of  things  ; 

And  have  thou  firm  faith  !     On  the  universe 

Light  is  enough  !     The  sun  is  not  a  lamp 

Hung  up  for  dead  men  in  a  sepulchre, 

No,  but  to  light  the  living  to  their  work. 

And  what  is  living?  —  With  the  powers  of  heaven 

And  energies  of  earth,  while  these  endure, 

Nobly  enshrined  in  human  form  to  appear ;  — 

Light,  truth,  right,  freedom,  and  pure  happiness, 

On  earth  creating,  to  possess  on  earth. 

Man  has  no  object  but  to  be  just  man, 

The  strength  it  tasks  is  in  itself  all  else ! 

And  long  has  been  so  !     Now,  were  he  a  God, 

Who  could,  throughout  all  heaven  extend  himself, 

And  always  say  :    "  I,  I  have  everything, 

Therefore  am  all  things  ;    I  have  hands  and  feet, 

And  heart  and  mind  and  strength,  as  none  besides  ; 

Yet  having  hands,  I  therefore  nothing  do, 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY.  451 

And,  having  feet,  I  therefore  do  not  walk, 

Because  I  have  a  heart,  I  do  not  feel, 

Because  I  have  a  mind,  I  do  not  think, 

I  am  a  God  !  "     And  justly  from  the  depths, 

The  spirits  should  cry  to  him  :    "  Thou  art  a  fool ! " 

Man,  be  it  not  told  thee :    "  Thou  art  a  fool ! " 

Not  worse  be  thou  than  one  of  these  field  flowers, 

That  feels  at  least  the  sunshine  and  the  spring. 

Not  duller  be  thou  than  the  very  stone 

That  mutely  feels  the  weather  on  the  earth, 

Freezes  and  sweats  and  is  dissolved  at  last. 

Feel  thou  the  changes  of  earth's  atmosphere  ! 

Swell  thou  the  life  of  the  great  Universe 

By  thine  own  fate,  by  thine  own  joy  and  grief, 

And  thine  own  death.  —  One  man  more  in  the  world 

Is  a  new  world  more,  is  forever  worth 

There  having  been  a  God,  who  should  create, 

Create  the  earth  and  crowd  the  heaven  with  stars,  — 

A  soul  has  prayed  within  this  temple  here ; 

And  even  though  God  should  vanish,  though  the  temple 

Should  fall  to  ruins,  —  it  stood  not  in  vain. 

But  now  whole  hosts  of  spirits  pray  therein, 

Nay,  whole  processions  of  whole  spirit-hosts : 

And  thou,  O  man,  art  of  these  spirits  one, 

As  good  as  they  in  past  and  future  too, 

In  worth  and  dignity,  —  only  be  as  good, 

Then  shalt  thou  equal  all  in  deed  and  life  ! 

XXXI. 

Man's  Word  the  Porch :   God's  World  the  Temple. 

Mere  prefaces  to  human  life's  great  book, 
True  words  of  introduction  to  the  feast, 


452 


THE  LAYMAN'S  BREVIARY. 


The  text  of  the  great  preacher  in  the  temple, 

I  modestly  have  given  thee,  like  the  boy 

Who  waits  upon  the  porch  of  the  Lord's  house ; 

Now  go  thyself  in  through  the  temple  door, 

The  very  Holy  of  Holies  enter  thou, 

Tread  thou  .the  old  oft-thronged  and  trodden  floor, 

Feel  in  the  spirit  all  the  heavenly  shapes 

That  ever  knelt  upon  the  well-worn  steps, 

And  all  that  in  succession  have  gone  down 

Into  the  holy  crypt,  -stir  round  thee  still ! 

Look  reverently  round  thee  on  the  long 

Procession  of  the  "  saints  of  life,"  their  works 

Borne  in  their  hands  in  sign  of  gratitude. 

Listen  in  silence  to  the  Preacher's  voice, 

The  invisible,  mighty  one,  who,  not  with  words, 

No,  but  with  stars,  with  sunshine,  and  with  spring, 

Autumn  and  death,  with  dead  men  and  with  graves, 

With  myriad  new-born  children,  —  preaches  truth  ; 

Most  manifestly,  most  intelligibly 

With  men,  with  generations,  —  even  with  Thee. 

Thou  hear'st  him  not  at  all,  if  not  in  Thee,  — 

Then  hear,  O  hear  thyself,  and  so  hear  Him! 

And  learn  thou  the  one  sentence  in  thy  heart, 

Which  runs  in  large,  bright  letters   round  the  dome, 

And  ceaseless  teaches   and  proclaims  itself: 

"  Be  godly,  —  thou  art  in  the  House  of  God ! 

Be  good,  —  else  art  thou  vile  and  miserable  ! 

Each  thing  rejoices  to  be  what  it  is  : 

O  man,  rejoice  thou,  too,   to  be  a  man  !  " 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY— TEL.  NO.  642-3405 
This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  towhich  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  sdBject  to  immediate  recall. 

!EP181969 


LD  21A-40m-2,'69 
(J6057slO)476— A-32 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


YB  55269 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


